Chronicles of the Enchiridion Part 3: What's Left Behind
by GearSolidSnake
Summary: The city is in ruins. The war is in full swing. Now the survivors must deal with the horrors yet to come. "It's not what's gone that worries me, it's what changed that really scares me." Rigby isn't afraid of HIM any longer. In fact, he's ready to embrace his fate.
1. Goodbye Blue Sky

**::::ATTENTION NEW READERS::::**

**This is Part 3 of a hopefully 8 part series. If you have not read Part 1 or 2, please read it or else you may be completely lost and confused.**

This is a connection story between Adventure Time and Regular Show, and **not just a random "portal" ****cross-over, this story portrays both shows as if they are in the same universe.**

Also, the ideas in this story were created BEFORE Margaret leaves for college in "Steak me Amadeus" in Regular Show and IMMEDIATELY BEFORE "Blades of Grass" and after "Apple Wedding" (which means his demon blood sword is broken and Mr. Pig and Treetrunks just got married) in Adventure Time. This means that there was no CJ yet, Finn never met his father nor got his arm cut off, and he is still dealing with Flame Princess.

**This story is too large to make into one story so it will be broken up into multiple parts, spending time equally in both Regular Show and Adventure Time universes. Follow me, the author (GearSolidSnake), for the future stories after each one.**

Enjoy!

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Regular Show or Adventure Time, all rights are reserved by Cartoon Network. None of these characters or these items are owned by me.

As always, the song for this chapter is "Goodbye Blue Sky"-_Pink Floyd_.

* * *

The soft wind flowed through the green oasis of the city park. Trees rustled as the cool summer air blew. A young, round headed child was busy inspecting the butterfly on a nearby bush. He held a large, swirly lollipop in one hand. His suit was elegant and fanciful, an open resemblance of his father's wealth.

He stood in awe at the bright colors of the harmless creature. As it fluttered by, the child laughed gaily. It floated just within reach, but flew further away when the boy reached out for it.

He went on enjoying his candy and frolicking in his father's park. A little ways up the path, he saw Skips. The boy considered Skips his closest friend.

Finally, his father came walking by. Skips came to meet him. The boy listened in, "Now, Skips, I think a gazebo here would look wonderful! You get a clear view of the lake, not to mention the- Pops, my boy!"

The man noticed the child. A young Pops ran to his father, "Daddy!" He ran up to his father.

"So, how's that new hat treating you?"

The boy raised a hand to his head. The top hat he wore was so comfortable, he practically forgot it was still on his head. "It's wonderful! It's the best gift ever!" Pops proclaimed.

Mr. Maellard chuckled at his son's innocence, "Hehe, that's great son!"

Skips, who wore a workman's brown shirt and suspended pants, asked the child, "Say, we're looking for things to add to the park. Any ideas?"

Pops' eyes widened. Oh, the possibilities! With excited energy, he proclaimed, "A Ferris Wheel! A circus! A giant petting zoo with the biggest animals!"

Mr. Maellard patted Pops' large head as a large signal to stop. "Only the best for you, Pops," he said.

A soft rumbling was heard. Pops looked upwards. "Dad, what is that?"

"Oh, that's just one of those aeroplanes."

"Can we get one of those?!"

"Maybe. Who knows."

Pops continued looking at the metal contraption. It glistened in the backdrop of the blue sky.

Many years later, that same rumbling was heard.

The light of the blue sky was clouded by unending darkness.

A proud city now stood a decadent ruin.

Fires dotted the town as buildings crumbled and lay in pieces.

The overhead highway, broken, only stood with small patches of road atop the support columns left over.

Cars were turned over and many were crushed by the concrete and bricks which flooded the streets.

The unlucky lay dead on the pavement Blood ran into the storm sewers.

The smell was distinct and nauseating. A hand reached out from a pile of rubble.

At the square, a now much older Pops lay with a large amount of rock and debris crushing everything beneath his chest. He was just another victim, another casualty of the battle.

Overhead, the few remaining American F-22s performed a fly over of the city. The roars of their engines rang out through the rubble. Their mere existence stood as a mere mockery. "We won!" The dead always disagree.

Did you see the frightened ones?

Still, many clung on despite the despair.

Did you hear the falling bombs?

Rigby walked through the empty, barren streets. Small pockets of fires dotted the road ahead. His head craned downward, keeping his gaze not on what's ahead, but rather the hard ground which he tread.

"Why did this happen?"

Everywhere sat death and destruction. The bombs decimated the town. Rigby tripped over a small piece of rubble only to crash to the ground.

He was still in a daze from what he had to do earlier. He stabbed Mordecai in the heart.

He deserved it. Mordecai killed Eileen. Mordecai gave him the book.

Mordecai deserved what he got.

He never did anything wrong.

"Then why do I feel so bad?" he pondered as he continued onward.

All around him sat death and destruction. The buildings stood as ghostly shells of their former selves. Chunks of concrete flooded down from the wreckage. Only very few remained untouched.

Elsewhere, a young robin ventured through the town.

She held a small glock in her hands. Her friend gave it to her. She eyed the lonely streets looking for a friendly face.

A mangled corpse of a young woman lay on the sidewalk. A crow descended and began to pick at the cheek. Two more joined in. The first one, with red liquid dripping from its beak, turned to the intruding robin. It gawked fiercely at the girl.

Margaret hid her eyes. The woman before her could not be more than thirty. That could have been her...

She sprinted away, face wet with anxious sweat. She clutched the remnants of a wall that was formally supporting a brick building. She shivered. The robin struggled to maintain her sanity.

The dried, foul air felt as though it was choking her. She gagged as tears trickled down. She leaned against the structure only for it to collapse under her weight. A small plume of smoke and dust scattered the area from the falling brick.

In empty anguish and anger she kicked the rubble.

A crow perched itself on a nearby light post. It eyed her viciously. Margaret took it as a sign to keep moving.

Did you see the frightened ones?

Benson stood alone on the road. He loosely held the AR at his knees. He peered at the grey sky hanging over the dead city.

Pops died on his watch.

He cringed.

Never again...

No one is dying anymore...

The flames are all long gone, but the pain lingers on.

A slumped body lay in a musty office hallway. His blood coated the wall behind him and stained his white shirt to a deep red.

A day before, he met his end at the hands of a friend.

The Ice Crown lay beside him.

His hands lay motionless on the ground.

Just another victim.

Goodbye blue sky.

The ice Crown doesn't give up that easily.

Goodbye blue sky.

Goodbye.

The body shifted as a breath of needed air was drawn.

Goodbye...

* * *

**Chronicles of the Enchiridion Part 3: What's Left Behind**

* * *

The body awoke completely. Its eyes opened hazily, as though awaking from a long sleep. He sat propped against the wall.

"What was I just doing? I... I think..."

He leaned over, putting his head into his hands. He felt groggy. For some reason, something couldn't feel right.

"Just keep it together Morde-... Simon...?" For some reason, he couldn't tell who he truly was. For some reason, those two names erupted in his mind.

The thick smell of blood now faded into a light aroma. The man looked downwards. His white beard was at least to his collar bones. Past it, his shirt was still coated in blood.

He panicked.

Quickly, he shuffled in his position, frantically feeling his chest for a wound. His breathing intensified.

Nothing.

Confused, he unbuttoned his previously white shirt. There was a patch of ice bridging the gap between his skin. It looked as though it was covering the wound. He hardly felt it as he brushed it with his hands.

He covered his bloody shirt by buttoning his suit vest. At least he didn't look _as_ dead. Yet, inside he knew that he should not be living anymore.

For some reason, he felt different. An arm reached to inspect his face. There was no beak. In fact, the face itself was rather human in nature.

He turned.

Oh...

There you are...

The golden, ruby-encrusted Ice Crown sat on the ground beside him. It almost seemed to perch upon hearing its owners call. It stared right back at Simon.

"I... guess I should thank you for saving my life," he chuckled lightly. His voice was marked by insurmountable fear, and yet, relief.

His hands shook as they reached out for the tempting gold.

Its mere touch sent chills down Mordecai's spine.

He hilted the ice crown to a loop on his belt.

The man was at the same time, yet neither, Simon and Mordecai. Two broken memories.

Mordecai knew he was just fighting someone, or something.

He lost.

He didn't know why he fought or where he should be going. Simon didn't even know where the hell he even was. But if one thing is certain, the Crown is all he has left for the moment.

Simon slowly lifted to his feet using the wall for support. He then left the building, his destination unknown.

* * *

Rigby wandered through the destruction. He tread heavily as his feet trudged up and down with a systematic dullness.

"Rigby?!"

He froze. A voice rang out behind him with surprising fervor. He knew whose it was.

"RIGBY!" Margaret called out as her running footsteps pattered on the ground.

Rigby remained frozen. He hadn't seen her since yesterday. He pondered, "What do I tell her?"

He turned only to be embraced by an over reaching hug. Margaret wrapped her arms around the small raccoon.

The last person to really hug Rigby like this was Eileen. This felt foreign to him. But it was warm and caring.

With shaking arms, Rigby slowly returned the hug.

He closed his eyes and buried his face into her chest.

"I-I can't find anyone else," Margaret said still embracing the hold. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. She was so relieved to finally meet a familiar face again.

Rigby knew hat was coming. With his on body shaking with anxiety, he replied, "I can't either."

Margaret let go. Rigby hesitated before retracting himself. Margaret wiped her eyes with her arm. She laughed with joy, "I can't believe I found you. I'd just about given up hope."

Rigby asked, "How did you make it out?"

"I hid in an apartment basement once everything started happening. When I woke up this morning, there wasn't even a first floor."

Rigby chuckled, his own eyes starting to water. Overcome with emotion, he awkwardly said, "I-I'm glad... you're still here..." They were both just relieved to find someone else; a friend. "I think it's just you and me."

The last phrase hit both of them.

They may be the last ones left that they know of.

Pops, Benson, Skips; they might already be gone.

Margaret saw the sadness in Rigby's voice. She opened her mouth to speak only to be met with another hug by Rigby.

"What did he mean by that? He's not saying..."

She began to piece things together. She noticed Rigby's clothing was gone; only the red bag remained. Rigby had ditched his blood coated wardrobe. She asked without ceasing the hug, "What happened to your clothes?"

Rigby hesitated, "Oh, I-uh, they kinda got really dirty. I-I slipped and fell in a mud puddle and-"

"Where's Mordecai?"

Rigby froze.

Margaret's heart began to race in anticipation.

She broke the hug and slowly backed a few steps away.

"Rigby... where's Mordecai?"

The raccoon stood there, unable to move. His eyes were locked somewhere off in space.

"R-Rigby, I need to know. Where's Mordecai?"

No response.

"Please, just tell me something, anything! What happened to him?!" she asked. A different kind of tear now gathered in her eyes. "Please!"

Rigby struggled to hide his feelings. Listening to her anxiety caused him to have tears of his own. He turned to the ground.

Margaret's face quickly changed to one of cold realization. "No... no, he-he can't. Rigby, he's-..."

She cringed. Her hands ran through the feathers on her head. She collapsed to her knees.

"He can't be dead! He-..._augh!" _Margaret cried inexorably. Her face welled as her eyes leaked out. She shook with each violent sob. She was at a total loss for words.

Rigby felt saddened for his friend. He reached out a hand to her shoulder. She immediately recoiled; "Get away from me!"

"Margaret-?"

"You killed him! Why?! Wh-y-y-y?"

"I-he... he would've killed me," Rigby lied. Mordecai gave him a chance to go.

"He was a dad," she responded.

Rigby tried to justify himself, "He-listen, Margaret, he killed Eileen! I-it wasn't my fault!" He also began to cry.

She lashed out, beating his chest with her fists,"_You monster! You moster-r-r!"_ Her hysterics slowly died down as she was left kneeling on the ground, her face buried into her elbows.

Rigby, his eyes welling, "Margaret, please, I'm sorry!-"

He froze again. Why the hell is he apologizing?

Why is it that every single time he does something, its always the wrong thing! Every time! Why can't he do anything right?! "I'm trying at least, okay?! I tried and no I'm getting blamed for everything!"

He dried his eyes.

His attitude turned bitter.

Rigby said coldly, "He got what he deserved."

"Rigby..." she said looking up, her face still soaked with tears.

Rigby felt a ping of guilt only to shut it back out; "I did what I had to."

He turned and began to move away from the scene.

"Rigby," she weakly called from behind, "Where are you going?!"

He hardly noticed, nor cared.

Suddenly, his hunches flared up. His senses grew alert. The raccoon immediately shifted around.

Margaret held her handgun up. The quivering barrel trained on Rigby. He could see how angry she was.

Her finger hovered over the trigger. But there was something holding her back.

Rigby could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wouldn't do it.

He shook his head with pity, and continued to walk off.

Margaret, defeated, collapsed back into a sob.

As he abandoned his former friend in her emotional state, he felt no guilt, nor did he feel any remorse. She was in league with him. How could he not have seen it before. At this point, he didn't care what happened to her.

He muttered, "I'm not sorry."

The Lich was impressed. He didn't have to say anything.

Goodbye blue sky.

Goodbye.


	2. It's Not What's Gone That Worries Me

Sorry about the spelling errors in the first chapter, I was posting that at around midnight. Fun...

Also, sorry for the delay. A lot has happened since the first. I have been extremely busy.

Anyway, thank you guys so far for the reviews. I hope you all will enjoy what I've got in store. This was a fun, yet long to write, chapter.

* * *

The hardest part was walking. The mundane, rhythmic pattern of raising and lowering the feet was too foreign now. You never really _think_ about walking, its just something someone does without thought.

Simon, however, found the ordeal almost impossible. As he made his way out of the tomb of his body's previous owner, he grudgingly willed himself with each lift of the leg. Finally, Mordecai made it to the door. Simon shielded his eyes with his arms. Though the skies were grey, the outside light blinded him.

Once his eyes adjusted, he stood amazed at the terror around him.

The buildings were in ruin as a constant, light cloud of dust surrounded every space. Only a select few skyscrapers stood relatively intact as one slanted construct rested upon the one next to it. Rubble lined the streets. A trail of blood lay ahead of him.

"How... how did this happen...?" Simon said aloud. He brought up his right hand and rested it on his now aching temple. "What did I do?" Mordecai said. "Rigby..."

The voice was not his own anymore. It now sounded like the much older, wiser voice of Simon. The hands were Simon's. The legs and feet were Simon's. The face was Simon's. The hair and beard was Simon's as courtesy of the Crown. The mind was shared, finding no peace.

With aimless direction, he wandered.

His feet still were trying to get into their natural rhythm.

All around lay the pale remains of a city gone to the very depths of hell.

Simon walked with his senses heightened. Every sound, every creak, every drop of water was met with a sharp, frightened look by Mordecai. "It's alright. It's nothing," he would reassure himself, "You're alone. Nothing's gonna get you Mordecai, you're alone."

Alone.

Eventually, the alley he was walking in opened into a rather large square. Several bodies lay strewn about, most gunshot victims. A medium sized warehouse looking building was completely demolished.

Simon remembered...

Gene...

That son of a bitch locked Betty on the other side of the town. He was there when this went down.

One of Gene's guards was slumped over. A block of melting ice still formed from his waist down. He took shrapnel to the back. Mordecai remembered only freezing him from the neck down as to avoid killing him. Some things just come around in the end. Simon immediately keeled over in horror at the sight of his unintentional victim. He threw up on the pavement. The killing, the death; it made him sick. He never meant to kill anyone.

Mordecai wiped his human mouth. He had to let it go. He noticed the stage in the center. Small pockets of fire still lay scattered around it. Gene's metallic body still lay face down on the pavement. A gunshot wound from Benson lay in the back of his head. An arm extended outward.

On the left, a large pool of blood sat. However, there was no body; just a thin trail of blood on the ground, as well as a bloody imprint of a feathered hand on the wall nearest to trail. Someone must have made it out. Mordecai hardly remembered who that was, but he felt a slight ping of joy that _someone_ made it out.

He walked away from the square.

Strange...

Simon's bag lay in the middle of a T-intersection. "Now what are you doing out here?" Simon curiously asked the brown backpack. It still held his tapes and even his pen. There was even new stuff as well: some food, a sleeping bag on top, and a small tarp.

There also were his blue glasses, which were now cracked in several places. Simon contemplated them. His vision was still somewhat sound, although he remembered having terrible eyesight. Nevertheless, he opened the stems, placed them over his ears, and donned his glasses on the bridge of his now elongated nose.

"Maybe it's still there," he pondered. Simon reached in and undid two stitching's on the inner back wall. The camouflaged flap slumped forward. Yes! Yes! Yes! Bugger all, yes! His journals still lay hidden in their secret compartment. Mordecai was surprised and giddy with joy! It was forever since he wrote these scientific entries with, uh... Rigby, maybe? No, no, no, Rigby was before the expedition or, wait, what?

Simon thought not to puzzle over the exploits producing such mind bending drabble any longer. If there's any one thing Simon still has left in the head of his; it's his wits. Right now, they're telling him that anywhere near the square is a death trap.

Mordecai quickly picked up the pace.

He stumbled but caught himself from falling.

His foot tripped on an extended arm. The body was of a large headed, finely dressed man half under a pile of rubble.

He seemed vaguely familiar, but Simon could hardly recall any memories. There was just high pitched laughter.

"It must not be important. Have to keep moving," Mordecai concluded.

Have to keep moving.

"Until what?"

He wasn't sure if that came from the Crown or from within himself.

"Until..." he spoke, almost at a whisper. He contemplated an answer.

"Until I find, uhm, something."

It was a good enough reply.

Have to keep moving.

* * *

Pebbles fell to the ground, disturbed by a foot trampling over their resting place on the misshapen remains of a plastered wall. Their descent went unheard and unnoticed, erasing themselves from existence. Another foot came trudging up behind the previous, sending more minuscule pieces of rock into the void.

"Alright," spoke a thick, dirty, masculine voice, "Fives, I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 100."

Muscle Man, bearing his beloved shotgun and a backpack, stepped over a bridge of rubble over a one foot ravine. The floating High Five Ghost, holding a small 9mm with the hands he usually conceals, simply flew over the small ditch.

Finally, the young goat, Thomas, followed up the rear. He seemed not to care for their conversation. His mind was lost in a daze. His left forearm was bandaged. He carried his M14 rifle in a slung over his right shoulder.

"Hmmm," the floating ghost pondered.

"Give up yet faggot?!"

"Is it sixty-nine?"

"DAMNIT FIVES!" the green man raged.

Muscle Man turned his head back to face Fives as he walked. He and fives passed by an alley entrance, both giving a quick glance before continuing, "Okay, THIS time..."

Thomas passed by the alley. Flies gathered around a corpse. He shuddered with fear and quickly jogged with the others.

"...It's something you're never gonna guess."

Fives grinned, "Is it sixty-nine again?"

"HHRRNNYNGGRHHHYRNNG!" Muscle Man screamed in his usual, hysteric fashion, "You're cheating or something! Stop reading my thoughts, man!"

"Sorry. I just can't help myself. I'll just be floating along and 'Oh No! Muscle Man's thoughts of Starla porn!' It won't stop, dude!" High Five Ghost humored.

"Shut up!"

"It goes on for hours!"

"Fives!"

"UGH! Just make it stop already!"

"HEY! _My_ thoughts about _my_ woman are private!"

Thomas briskly chuckled.

Muscle Man cleared his throat. They passed by a boarded up hobby shop.

"Uh, guys," Thomas spoke, "Should we check that out-"

"Now I'm thinking of a new number. And it's _not_ sixty-nine!"

"-Okay, just ignore me then."

Fives answered, "Eighty-one."

"Lower."

"Fifty-four."

"Lower. Less than twenty."

"Twelve."

"No."

"Four."

"Nope."

"It's thirteen. Thirteen times three is sixty-nine," Thomas answered.

"Well look who decided to say something?" Muscle Man retorted, not indicating if his answer was right or not; which it totally was.

"It's not like I wanted to be here anyway," Thomas said, scanning around, doing his job, like a fucking god-tier pro in his own mind.

Fives responded, "Pfft, yeah you would. you wanted to come out here." Thomas noticed these two weren't scanned as diligently as he was. Thomas concluded they weren't fucking god-tier pro like he was...

"Yeah, but not with you guys. I wanted to scavenge by myself."

Muscle Man replied, "With that arm and your, uh, what's it called?"

"Youthful stupidity?"

"Yeah, thanks Fives, youthful stupidity. Come on, man. Benson would never let you out on your own without someone holding your hand."

"Well," Thomas anxiously replied. He wasn't making a good argument. "I'm not a kid, okay? I held my own back there. I killed just like everyone else, and I'm _still_ treated like a stupid kid."

Fives stopped. As a result, everyone else stopped moving as well. Fives turned with a nonchalant, unmoved expression of not giving a shit. He placed the gun on a brick.

"Thomas," he said, "Look what I have in my hands. I have a full cup of water and a lid." His hands held the imaginary objects. In a swift motion, he put one over the other, "Now shut-the-full-cup."

"Ooooooooooohhhhh!" Muscle Man said, one arm in the air and swinging, "Better throw that water on him, bro! He's burning up! OOOOOHHH!"

Thomas wasn't one for laughs or even for feeling embarrassed. His face was grim with pain. That single elongated vowel tore through Thomas. Fives shared the same reaction. "Muscle Man..."

"W-w-wait! You're still getting burned! OOOOOOOOHHHHH!"

"MUSCLE MAN!" Thomas snapped. The green man stopped. In a calmer voice, he continued, "Don't ever do that again."

"What?"

"You know what," he said as he hid his eyes elsewhere.

Muscle Man stood puzzled before catching on.

It reminded them all of Mordecai and Rigby.

The pain was too much.

They stood there, sharing an uncomfortably comfortable silence. They knew the gravity of what just happened.

"Could we just..." Muscle Man said, swallowing in between words, "Can we just forget, about that?"

Thomas collected himself, "Y-yeah." His face was already started to cringe as to prepare for a cry.

"Let's keep going," Muscle Man said, "The shop's right down the block."

* * *

"Hello? Is anyone out there?" Simon shouted.

Only mocking echoes returned.

After several seconds of silence, Simon adjusted the bag on his shoulders before continuing his aimless walk. He still was unsure of what exactly he was looking for. The only option was to continue walking.

His crown bounced against his side with each step. It served as a constant reminder that it still is Mordecai's master.

Suddenly, as if breaking through the silence, he heard crying. It was faint and depressing. The high tone meant it had to be a child.

Simon never met a single living person since awaking. He anxious stepped over a downed power line before rounding the corner of a small toy store.

A small, dark haired girl stood crying. She looked to be about six or seven. She wore a faded red shirt with blue overalls. Her skin looked awfully pale and her arms clung to her chest.

Simon felt immense relief. "Finally, someone else." His stomach felt as though it was rising into his chest. The anxious feeling of finding someone else overwhelmed him. Yet, something seemed off. The girl's face was soaked in tears.

At once, he set down his bag. He rushed over to the girl.

She noticed him, yet did not react. Her disabling crying left her standing where she was.

Simon tried to comfort her, wiping a tear with his finger. There had to be something to help cheer her up.

He glanced back to the broken store window of the toy shop. A huge pile of stuffed animals lay immediately inside. Mordecai rushed over and grabbed the top one. It was a pinkish red bear with elongated arms, blue buttons for eyes, and a stitched mouth.

He approached the child, who still stood crying were he left her. He held out the present in his hands.

Immediately, the girl's expression changed to surprise then joy. She tightly hugged the stuffed bear to her chest.

She looked up at the tall, blue man. Her smile caused Mordecai to smile as well.

Simon got down to one knee. "Hi," he said abruptly and rushed. He never was one for talking to kids, let alone ones this young. "What's your name?"

Although she was smiling, there were still remnants of her crying. "M-Marceline," she said, her body still shaking.

"It's, uh, it's nice to meet you Marceline," Mordecai said in a calm, almost soothing voice.

"What's your name?"

"I'm, uh..." He had to think for a second. Who was he really anymore? There were so many memories interlocked, so many erased. Was he a bird? A man? A lifeless vessel? Finally, a name erupted into his mind like a speeding bullet.

"I'm Simon," Mordecai said. Marceline still clung to her bear. "Are you alone? Where are your parents?"

"M-My dad is away. We never see each other and mom doesn't like to talk about him," she said nervously, fiddling with the bear's ear.

"What about your mom?"

The question caused Marceline to slightly recoil. Tears began to escape once more. Her mouth clammed up.

Unable to speak, she simply turned around and pointed ahead of her. Simon followed her finger. She pointed to the remnants of an apartment building, now toppled with large chunks lying in the street and small flames still gather around.

"Oh my god..." Simon quietly said to himself. "So... you're all by yourself?"

She nodded.

"You mean you've been here since yesterday?"

She nodded.

"D-do you have anything to eat? Somewhere to sleep?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want something to eat?"

She let out a short smile, then nodded.

"Okay, let's see what we got," Simon said as he swung his bag off his shoulder onto the ground between them. They both peered inside. "Moldy oranges. Nope. A canned chicken. Yuck. Here, what about these?" He pulled out a box of animal crackers. "These look good, right?"

She smiled, her crying stopped. At once, the cardboard was ripped open. She reached in, grabbing a handful of the animal shaped crackers and putting them in her mouth.

Mordecai sat down on the pavement across from her. His stomach rumbled. It had been a while since he ate anything. "Hey, uh, can I have some of those."

Marceline placed the box on the bag. Mordecai reached in, eating the snack one at a time.

"You know," Marceline said while Simon was munching on a previously intact giraffe, "I always bite the heads off first." She grabbed a donkey out of the box and violently decapitated it.

Simon chuckled, "That's funny. Back when I was a kid, I used to pretend they were grazing and I was like a giant lion or something."

He reached inside, pulling out a zebra and an elephant. "'Well hello mister elephant,'" Simon said in a rough, low voice,"'How are you today?' 'I'm doing great mister zebra and- OH NO!"' Those were the elephant's last words before being eaten. "'Ahhh!'" Simon finished off the two animal herd.

The cruel treatment of these nonliving animals caused Marceline to giggle. She pulled out a lion and a donkey as Simon pulled out another zebra. "'How are you guys doing?'" Simon asked in his earlier voice.

"'Oh hi zebra, we're just AHH! A GIANT BEAR!'" At once, Marceline slammed the donkey into her stuffed bear, causing it to crumble into dozens of pieces.

"Hey, we should save those." Simon mildly scolded.

"Oh, sorry. 'AHH! Now it's a giant Marceline!'" she shouted.

"'Run for your lives!'" Mordecai said as he galloped the zebra away.

Marceline bit a leg of the lion, "'It got me! Go on without me!'"

"'NOOO!'" Simon over-dramatically imitated the zebra.

Then they both ate their victims, laughing quite loudly. It was a nice escape for the both of them. Simon couldn't remember the last time he laughed like this. Granted, he sounded like a buffoon, but if it could get her to stop worrying and be happy, then it was worth it.

After this, they ate the rest of the crackers normally, with the exception of the occasional decapitation by Marceline.

"Shho yu two shee' vury acui'ehed," Simon said with a mouthful of food.

"What?" Marceline questioned, her arm was latched around her bear.

Mordecai swallowed, before continuing, "I mean you and the bear, you seem acquainted. Did you think of a name for him yet?"

Marceline grabbed a big handful of crackers and shoved them in her mouth before answering, "Weo Iy vah shinin of va na ha-o."

"Ha ha. Very funny smarty pants."

She swallowed and smirked, "I know. But I was thinking of naming him Hambo."

"Why that? Why not 'Bear-y,' or 'Stuff-...y.' I don't know, it just seems like something kids name things."

Marceline plopped Hambo on her knees, inspecting his eyes and mouth. She answered without looking from the bear, "Well, I was also thinking of Herb. He's this boy I went to school with who'd play with worms and things. He's weird. But we have a dog named Hambo. We named him that because for some reason, he was scared of pigs and I don't think he liked bacon either. It's kinda cruel if you ask me."

"Well, uh, what about this Herb kid? Did you, like, have a crush on him or something?"

"No, he put a worm in my hair so I socked him in the gut and got in trouble," she answered plainly.

Mordecai was surprised. Just who the heck was this kid? He noticed she had fangs on her wisdom teeth and pointed ears. Her skin was also strangely pale. It was strange. She also seemed, well, strange. Yet, Simon still felt something when he was around her. He felt... young. He also felt that it was up to him to look after her now. It was some sort of moral obligation he placed upon himself. Not only was she the only person he met so far, but he was the only one _she_ knew. And if not him, then who else? Some dirt bag who might do something? She could die out here. _  
_

Marceline ate the last of the of the crackers before ditching the cardboard box. Mordecai dived after it, "No no no no, we should save it. It's great for starting fires." He folded the cardboard and put it in his bag. She was still smiling at him with childlike glee.

She will die out here if he doesn't do anything.

Simon got back on one knee and shouldered his bag. "Hey, a-are you leaving?" Marceline asked in a worried voice.

Mordecai placed an hand on her shoulder. She clung tighter to Hambo. "Marceline, how about coming with me? If there's no one out here for you, then we should stick together."

"B-but what about my dad? What if he comes back?"

He sighed, "Marceline... when was the last time you saw your dad?"

"I think it was when I was baby."

"Marceline, your dad's not coming. So... what do you say?"

She fiddled with Hambo's ear with her finger while she contemplated. Finally, she nodded.

He smiled. She smiled.

He stood up and began walking. She followed suit. "Ah-ah, take my hand. I don't want you getting lost or running ahead."

"Or falling down a manhole or being kidnapped by angry zebras looking for revenge."

He chuckled, "Yeah or that. We wouldn't want the to happen."

* * *

The entire side of the Right-Assistance drug store contained a giant, blown out hole. From the outside, shelves could easily be seen strewn about and toppled.

Muscle Man vaulted over the small wall of the hole onto a pile of broken glass and brick, followed by Thomas doing the same. The crushing clatter of the glass sounded throughout the store. So much for stealth and being quiet. Luckily, the place looked deserted.

"We'll fan out. Thomas, take the left aisles. Fives, center. I'll take the right.," Muscle Man instructed.

They split up. Muscle Man's shotgun was lowered. If there was any real threat, they would have heard them already. Fives silently hovered over the shelves. Thomas, who was more careful, scanned up and down with his M14. The raising and lowering caused minute pains in his left arm, making Thomas grimace.

There was a recurring theme in the aisles of the store. With each pass, Muscle Man grew more and more frustrated. Thomas just tried to keep calm.

Finally, Muscle Man yelled, "Ugh! This dump is empty! What a waste of time! And this whole place reeks too"

"It was probably Gene or his guys a while ago," Thomas replied from across the store.

"Freaking Gene! Even when he's dead, he's still an asshat!"

Fives arose above his section in view of everyone, "I found a stick of gum!"

"No one cares, Fives!" Muscle Man shouted.

"So... I can have it?! AWESOME!"

Thomas rolled his eyes. He looked to the _Right Express_ section at the back of the store. He walked up to the customer service desk, peeked beyond it.

"Seriously, does anyone else smell that? Jeez!" Muscle Man shouted.

"Are you sure it's not you?" Fives replied.

"SHUT UP!"

Nothing. The shelves that usually held prescription medications were picked clean. Even the candy shelves in front of the bar were empty. Then Thomas' head craned down behind the counter. Muscle Man was right about the smell.

His eyes showed a severe sadness and confusion.

Muscle Man came over, "Bro, what is it?"

He stopped as well once he stood next to the intern.

A decayed corpse lay against the other end of the counter. He wore a pharmacist uniform, now splattered with a dark gray liquid. His retched blood burst outward across the floor. There was a large hole in the side of his head, which lay in a pool of the gummy liquid. A revolver lay in his right hand.

"He-he just... just ended it? He just gave up?" Thomas said slowly, still shocked.

Fives replied, "Well, yeah. People get scared and they do get desperate."

"But just... just... killing yourself. W-why? He just threw everything away?"

Muscle Man swallowed, "Who cares? It was his choice to kill himself. No use crying over someone who isn't worth it."

"But he's still a person," Thomas pleaded, "He had a life and a name and-"

"Thomas. What are you getting worked up about? You said it yourself, you were killing just like everyone else back there. Why this one person and no one else?"

"I-I don't know man. I guess, in my mind, they kind of deserved it. They were bad and it was either them or me. I still feel shitty about Chad, but-, but he was threatening me. You never really think about something like this, like actually seeing it. He didn't deserve this. He must have been scared or something but... oh man..."

Muscle Man leaped over the counter. "What are you doing?" Fives questioned. Muscle Man left the shotgun on the countertop and began fiddling with the man's hand.

"Isn't that disrespectful?" Thomas asked.

Muscle Man pried the gun from his hands, "Yeah, well, he's not gonna use it. I at least want to get _something_ from this dump." He started checking the pockets as well.

"Come on!"

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Muscle Man replied to the two of them, "What, I'm checking for bullets. Jeez." He uncovered three or four loose rounds in his front pocket. The only other thing he got was a wallet from his coat pocket.

"Wait. Let me see that," Thomas said motioning towards the wallet.

"It's not like you can spend it on anything," came Muscle Man's reply as he tossed it over.

Thomas opened it up. "Mark Marks. Hmph, that's kind of a funny name."

Muscle Man prepared to hop back over, when Thomas stopped him, "Wait! Shouldn't we do something about him?"

"Like what?" Before he could protest, Thomas leaped over the desk. Fives joined him.

"Muscle Man, help me get the feet," Thomas said.

"Ugh, are you serious?!" Muscle Man asked. Thomas' pleading eyes forced Muscle Man to surrender. Together, they lifted Mark into the back part of the pharmacy. Fives retrieved an old coat and placed it over his face.

"There," Muscle Man said, "You have last words for him too? Ashes to dust or whatever. Fives, let's go."

Thomas looked at the body of Mark the pharmacist before joining the others. They exited the store and made the long trip back home. For ten minutes, they walked in complete silence. The burning heat from the occasional roaring fire engulfing a wood structure made the hike all the more endearing.

"You could actually say something," Muscle Man finally said, panting a short bit. Most of the hike included scaling rubble and climbing through tight, claustrophobic streets.

Thomas, uninterested, returned, "Like what?"

"I don't know man, just starting a conversation. Jeez Thomas. It's better than listening to nothing."

Fives added, "I don't know, I can hear you just fine."

Muscle Man stopped, resting one hand on a brick edifice while lowering with the shotgun with the other. "What do you mean?" he said between panting.

Thomas chuckled lightly, getting the joke. Fives grinned immensely realizing his efforts weren't in vain. Muscle Man finally caught on, "Hey! That's not funny!" The others broke out in laughter, "I have a condition, okay?!"

"Wh-what? Not, _heh_, not being able to walk five feet without taking a break?" No one laughed. "B-because you're so fat!" Then Thomas and Fives sporadically burst out laughing.

"Screw you guys! Fine! I'd rather just listen to nothing!"

The others still chuckled.

The trio circled around the street corner through a tight pile of rubble. The destroyed concrete acted as a massive, arching barrier between one side of the street and another, with steel rebar sticking out. Fives veered over the barrier and spotted a brightly colored _W._ It was obvious that was for Wonderman and that the shop was a comic book store. Fives shrugged internally at the normality of the topic. He plainly asked, "What about this, what's your favorite superpower?"

Muscle Man shook his head in disgust as he climbed over a large rock in their path, "What am I, two? Fives, that's stupid! Find something else to talk about. Like explosions or action movies or girls or their underwear or something manly. Actually, Starla has these really hot undies that have a little-"

"You know what?!" Thomas interrupted as he scaled the short obstacle, "I'm fine talking about superpowers. Let's just stick to that for now. Yeah, that. We can talk about underwear some other time."

"Preferably never ever in the history of the universe and life itself until the end of time," Fives added.

"Yeah that exactly."

Muscle Man gave in, "Fine. Since you asked it, you first Fives."

High Five Ghost replied, "You know what I want? Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'd want the power to fly-"

"Fuck you."

"Wait! Can I also add immortality?"

"Fives, not something you already have! Jeez you don't even know how this works!" Muscle Man stated.

Thomas spotted a relatively sound looking bakery across the ruins. "Hey guys," he said, "What about over there? We could always check someplace-"

"Then you pick one," Fives directed to Muscle Man. Thomas groaned in angry frustration.

"You know what superpower I'd want?" Muscle Man stated, "Okay, get this: the ability to make anyone you want crap themselves."

"Ewwwww."

"Think about it! Say it's a school bully; BOOM! They just pooped themselves in class! Someone trying to mug you, I don't think so brown pants! Gene giving a speech? NOT ANYMORE!"

Fives laughed aloud, "I would pay serious money to see Gene crap himself on stage! But what would your superhero name be?"

"I'd be 'The Shitter,' duh. What about Thomas? What would he want? Yo Thomas! ...Thomas?"

They both noticed that there was a severe lack of goat interns behind them, being that they were missing one. He seemingly disappeared.

Then High Five Ghost noticed the goat in question scampering over the ruins in the distance. "THOMAS?! What the hell?!"

"Sorry guys," said the intern as he broke into a sprint, "I'll keep scavenging, _heh_, I'll catch you guys back at camp!"

"Thomas! Get back here!" Muscle Man called out. But it was too late, the goat was already gone; traveling down an alleyway, through a house, and back on a street two blocks down.

"Oh man, Benson's gonna be pissed," Fives spoke, stating the obvious.

* * *

Elsewhere, one lunatic still managed to survive the carnage. This sick individual actually seemed to enjoy the destruction. No rules, man!

On top of that, his only real rival, Gene, was dead as a doorknob. Fucking thank God! He was such a bore anyway? This individual was the small fox feared as the head of the Devil Kings gang.

Speaking of which, the untouched warehouse where the Kings were centered held three guests. These party poopers knelt with their hands tied and glue on their mouths. You were expecting tape or some bullshit like that, weren't you? Taped mouths are so last generation.

The King of insanity himself now stepped out of the shadows. His eyes were closed and his face was one of complete, orgasmic pleasure. He walked towards them, hands stroking his cheeks.

"_Ooooh! Ooowww!_ I steal from Rafael! I no care! I loooove it! _OOOOHHH!"_ Rafael declared, cheeks still being stroked. Finally, he snapped back to reality, "You thought you could steal from me and get away with it?! Hakim you dumb shit!"_  
_

None of the prisoners were actually named Hakim, and one tried to protest this. However, Rafael was lost in his own world. "Are you stupid?! I'm serious, you fucking cornflakes! You just waltz in here like the emperor of my anus and start taking my shit, _MY_ shit!"

The three were terrified.

"You know what I'm going to do with you? Hmm? This is great, like top notch punishments. I'm going to cut off..."

The three recoiled, preparing for the worst.

"Your index fingers. Then I'll let you go. Think of the inconveniences! You'll be like, 'Dude, look over there!' 'Where?!' 'Oh Shit! I can't point!' Goddamn! I am good at these!"

As Rafael listened to the worried, yet strangely confused, muffled cries of his intruders, he smiled gleefully. "This is my city. No one's getting in my way..."

* * *

Thomas continued to wander through the streets. He'd lost the others twenty minute ago, yet found nothing to show for it. The bread shop was a dud. Nowhere else seemed to fare any better.

His M14 felt like it was slowly getting heavier. He decided to shoulder it. It bounced against his backpack he bought on The Day, only for it to slide back off his shoulder. "Looks like I'm stuck carrying it. Great."

His walking was aimless and without reason. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Breaking him from his trance, the frightened voice of a ten year old boy arose, "S-sir! Can you help? My dad's hurt!" The kid peered out from the broken wall of a hollow, still standing apartment building.

"Esteban, no!" came an older, grainy voice from inside, "Vene! Vene aqui! No pregunatesle!"

"Please," the boy continued to Thomas, "Can you do something?"

Thomas was stuck, not sure what to do. "I-uh... Where is he?"

The boy went back around his corner. Thomas followed suit. He found an older, Hispanic man with a thick mustache. Blood coated his lower abdomen. He spoke to the unfamiliar goat before him, "Please, don't hurt me or my boy." He eyed the M14 nervously.

Thomas hesitated. What could he do? He can't stay here, he should be doing something else. But that's exactly what the other two would do. They wouldn't care for someone else, someone like this man. They'd just let him die.

Thomas reached into his bag. He pulled out a small first aid kit and a bottle of water. "It's not much," he said, "But it's the least I could do."

Esteban took the items, "Thank you, thank you so much."

The tired looking man grimly smiled, "Bless you."

Thomas smiled back. "You-you know, we have a place. It's down on first street where the old coffee shop was. It beats living out-" he stopped once he realized the momentarily look of _thank you_ was replaced by a suspicious glare. "Nevermind. I'm glad I could've helped."

He slowly backed out before continuing his walk. He felt different inside. It was uplifting, knowing he did something great like that.

He continued his search with a better sense of purpose.

Eventually, he reached a sound, untouched music store. "Eh, what the heck." Thomas entered the shop. He felt some sort of nostalgic rush by walking into the record store. He hadn't listened to any kind of music since before the nukes started dropping.

He rushed through, glancing at the familiar titles. Jon Bovi, The Roaches, The What, The Crash, The Sea guys, Johnny Money, oh there were so many great bands and artists! He could just imagine the songs dancing in his head as he walked.

Fink Ployd's on sale? Ew. He wasn't into that "Hipster trash."

One the counter, he found an unopened cassette player. How could he object for the low price of completely free? What a deal! He snagged the player and put it in his bag.

_Thud_

Thomas raised his M14. The low, sudden noise startled him. It was like something fell to the floor, or heavy footstep or something.

His heart began to pound. He checked the safety near the back of the receiver. His rifle was good to go. He pulled the bolt back, chambering a fresh round. What ever that noise was, it is going to be pumped with lead soon.

Thomas nervously stepped forward. There was a wall jetting down the center of the store. He couldn't see anything on the other side. Great.

He approached the opening of the wall. He pressed himself tightly against the wall, listening for any sort of noise.

He counted in his head. When he hit three, his body forced his hesitant, scared mind around the corner, weapon raised.

His rifle was grabbed.

A swift kick to the gut.

The world spun around him as Thomas was flipped, back slamming into the ground.

His eyesight completely blurred as he could hear the footsteps of someone walking around his torso.

A hazy mesh of white and red stood before him.

Eventually, his eyesight returned. Thomas lay looking down the barrel of his own M14 rifle. Beyond that was... Oh... My... God...

Thomas blinked several times to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

Before him stood the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her skin was a deep, silky white. Her hair was puffy like the sweetest cotton candy. Her eyes shone with absolute brilliance to where even the sun and moon would even envy their shine. The girl standing before him, holding Thomas' own rifle, wore a striped red and white tank top and had the likeness of a cloud.

"Don't do anything stupid," she warned, keeping her finger steady on the trigger.

One look and Thomas knew that his heart was set.

He reached out a hand. "HimynameisThomaswhat'syours?!" he said without stopping. The sudden movements of his hand almost made her pull the trigger.

She stared at him with the most puzzled look. "A-Ar..." she struggled to contemplate this poor bastard, "Are you stupid or something? Do you not see what is going on here?"

"Maybe," he said, unsure of the answer.

Suddenly, the murmur of voices outside caught the cloud girl's attention. "Oh shit, why do they keep following me?" she mumbled to herself. At once, she turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Thomas finally registered that he was just robbed.

"H-Hey!" he said getting to his feet and running after her. She slipped through a slender, tight hole in the back wall of the store. He struggled to venture through the opening. "Wait up! That's mine!"

The girl didn't stop running, "What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!" she commanded. Thomas did not obey.

"Well I need my rifle back! Anyway, who are we running from?!"

**_BANG_**

Shots rang out from behind him.

The stranger slyly ducked under a low piece of plywood and squeezed through the opening of the wood fence and the wall of the adjoining building with ease. There was no way Thomas could follow suit. The alley was a dead end for Thomas. "Shit," he muttered as he reached into his bag and pulled out his M9 handgun, a gift from Rigby.

He knelt at the end of the fence. Two thugs veered around the corner. Thomas shot them down.

The _pat pat_ of footsteps assured that more were close behind.

Thomas looked to his right and saw a locked door. He shot at the doorknob three times before ramming through it. He sprinted through the dusty apartment room before leaping back out the decimated opening of the building into the street.

The cloud girl was still running, Thomas' rifle in hand. The goat came sprinting after her, "Hey! _huff heh_, oh gosh you run fast!"

Finally, the girl was cut off by an absolutely massive skyscraper that had collapsed sideways onto the road. The crushed concrete and glass prevented any way through it.

He caught up with her, panting from the heavy sprinting. "Hey," he called out.

She spun around, rifle locked on the goat. He threw his arms up in defense. "What the hell are you even doing?!" she demanded.

"Woah! Woah!" Thomas stammered, "I just want to know who the hell kicked my ass and stole my stuff, and why she brought friends who tried to murder me."

She glanced behind the goat while he complained. She rushed to him, grabbed his shirt, and twirled with him to the ground. She lay on Thomas as she fixed the gun at the apartment entrance where three or four of the pursuers arrived.

The short exchange of gunfire lasted seconds. The ground around the duo spat pockets of dust and dirt as bullets collided with the pavement. The cloud girl only needed four bullets.

Unexpectedly, two thugs arrived from the rubble of a building to their left. Thomas uncomfortably raised his left arm, M9 in hand, and killed the attackers. She was stunned. Those two took her by surprise and probably would have ended her life.

"There'll be more coming in a bit," the cloud girl said aloud as she stood up. Thomas wiped the dirt off his pants and shirt. He held out his hand. The girl reluctantly gave back what belonged to Thomas.

"You know, you could come with me. We have a camp set up at the coffee shop and I'm sure Benson would let you stay with enough persuasion and-"

"Who are you?" she asked curiously.

"Well, I'm Thomas."

"No. I mean, who _are_ you?" She never met anyone dumb enough yet kind enough to almost die for a complete stranger. She knew he was a dumbass, but for some reason her gut told her to trust him.

"I'm just here to help," he replied.

She let out a short, weak smile.

He was still smiling. Whereas hers was cute and thankful, his exceeded the length of a normal smile and just became creepy.

Shouts in the distance. More thugs.

"So where's this place at?" she asked. She turned, Thomas was already running away.

"Try to keep up!" he teased. Ironically, the girl had no trouble catching up to him.

"So, what's your name? We were never really introduced."

"I'm CJ."

"CJ, huh? Well it's good to meet you without a gun in my face."

"It's nice meeting you too, Thomas."

* * *

Okay, this is depressing. I cried not once, but TWICE while typing this chapter! WTF?! The reference to the "Ooohhs" got me and I was all peachy and smiles during the animal cracker scene. Then BAM! It hit me that the lion and zebra are foreshadowing; I am of kill. I'm done! Game over, man! WTF is wrong with me and my story telling?! Jeez...

Anyway on an entirely semi-related note, I have to say my favorite director is Quentin Tarantino. I've been trying to gain insight on character dialog from him, as he makes his characters ramble about nothing for ten whole minutes but still makes it the most interesting and engaging nothing ever heard in cinema. Try looking him up sometime, especially the "royale with cheese" and "Jack Rabbit Slim" scenes from _Pulp Fiction _(it's on my profile).

In addition to channeling my inner child, Part 3 is also supposed to have much more comedy than Part 2 (if that's even possible. Ha. That was a joke. Are you impressed? I was...) If anyone has any tips on my comedy, if my jokes just do not work, or if I need advice on writing children; please feel free to share.


	3. It's What Changed That Really Scares Me

Thank you guys for the reviews and support so far.

* * *

Benson sat at a table in the dark basement of the coffee shop. He was alone.

Good.

It seemed like forever since it was just him and his thoughts.

Before him sat the banged up, dirty, near-broken '03 Springfield that belonged to Pops.

Benson carefully cradled the rifle just above the table. He breathed heavily. He treated the rifle like a living thing, almost as if it was Pops himself. He delicately twisted and turned the weapon, assessing the damage.

Always keeping the barrel away from him, he sighted down the rifle from the stock. It looked relatively straight. The only significant bends were near the muzzle or the barrel.

He noticed the sniper's scope was shattered and dented. That's fine. We don't need a scope. The sights are still intact... he hoped.

He rotated it down so his eyes met the far muzzle end of the rifle. The barrel was dented. The wood was chewed.

That's okay. Fixable, all fixable. We can just saw off the front half. It doesn't matter. It's still accurate.

The stock at the back of the gun was also frayed. A piece of shrapnel lodged itself right in the middle of the wood.

Benson grew slightly more irate. But it's okay, right? The stock just needs polished and sanded. There's no mechanics in the stock. Hell, we can even drill a hole in the stock itself. Won't _that_ look badass? You bet your sweet ass it will, Benson.

He had to rhetorically ask himself, "Are we having fun yet?"

The receiver where the bolt and everything else essentially was also looked to be in poor condition. Parts of the wood finish were actually burnt.

It's O. K.

We can fix it. All of it can be fixed. Goddamn, it will want to get fixed even if there's nothing left but the trigger itself. You hear that you sorry son of a bitch rifle?

He reached across to the other side. The loose feeding lever was put to the middle position only for it fall limp again. Benson angrily held the lever in the middle position. Now, he was free to take out the most vital part.

When he pulled out the bolt, it fell into three solid pieces. It was partially melted in some parts and shrapnel was lodged throughout.

The inside of the barrel was worn down.

There was nothing left of Pops' rifle to salvage.

Benson stopped, stunned by the abrupt, echoing clanking of the bolt on the ground.

He stepped back.

"Dammit Pops. Fucking damn piece of _SHIIIIIIT!"_

He flipped the table longways. The rifle bounced on the ground, chunks of wood flinging in all directions.

* * *

"Get ready to lift on three: One. Two. Three!"

Skips and Starla lifted the large, cumbersome slab of sheet metal. Veering inches from the ground, the two slowly carried the material to the chain link fence. Starla's arms shook as they rested the metal against the fencing.

Like before, Starla ran around to the other side while Skips held up the sheet metal. The chain link fence itself was held steady by large, metal posts that were about four or five feet apart and pounded a foot into the ground. Two horizontal pieces of lumber held the posts together while two slanted pieces near the bottom of the poles kept the entire construct from tipping.

Starla now grabbed the hammer and nails that sat next to their section. Skips changed his grip while Starla hammered the nails through the wood into metal; five nails a board.

The original design called for plywood to be across the poles. Surprisingly, Thomas pointed out that a chain link fence would act like a spring if collided against, whereas plywood would snap.

After the length of sheet metal was attached, Skips took a sigh. Starla rests with her hands on her knees, partially panting from the heavy lifting. She jokes, "So, are we having fun yet?"

"Are you kidding? This is like a vacation," Skips says with a comedic smile.

The two sit side by side against the reinforced fence for several minutes. The fence itself starts at the front corner of the now destroyed cafe. Across the street, the buildings that once stood tall and proud are now completely and utterly flattened, as if whisked away overnight. The plan involves the fencing reaching in a circle across the street, into the ruble of the other buildings, and back to the other front corner. At this point, Starla and Skips have reached the half way point, making the entire structure a semi-circle.

Across the street, they see Benson arrive out of the basement of the coffee shop. He stands with his shoulders straight, as if by artificial as not to appear weak, and with his hands on his hips. He hazes at the gray sky before inspecting the wall around their little fortress.

Skips lightly pats Starla's side, "Come on. I know it's tough but the sooner we finish, the longer we can take a break."

He helps her to her feet and they move to the stack of sheet metal lying in the center of the circle. All materials came courtesy of Gene's East Pines Foundation for Free Materials From a Useless Wall. High Five Ghost created the ingenious name.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Benson is at their side. The bags under his eyes were far more prevalent. He watches them for a second with troubled unsurity. Finally, he says, "Need a hand?"

Together, the trio successfully place the wall into its position. They see that the chain link fencing has run out. The tiring effort of hand-drilling the hole, pounding in the pole, and pouring the low-grade concrete must be accomplished before any sheet metal can be placed. Starla and Skips unanimously sigh at this realization.

Benson looks around the almost barren camp. "Have the others come back yet?" he asks, eyes still darting the area.

"Not yet," Skips replies.

Benson continued to glance around the area. He forgot the others are standing at his side. He's completely isolated on this side of the camp. Half of the fence is hardly complete yet. If someone were to come in, it would be like being caught with their pants down. The armory is on the other side. There's no gun anywhere nearby. Why the hell did he not put some guns over here? Hell there should be guns everywhere! Someone could come at any minute! Hell, anyone with good aim could kill the entire crew from a good overlooking window, and there's windows _everywhere!_ They have to seal off all the buildings! All of them! Every nook and cranny used to gain an advantage needs to be blocked! What if there's a fire? A raging fire that consumes all and steals the very light of day? One as terrible as- Oh God, no, no there should be fire extinguishers. Top priority for the next scavenging trip: fire extinguishers. There should also be cover throughout the entire courtyard. It needs to be like a maze! Suppose someone gets in, then what? Just stand in the open?! No. No, they need, they need a- WE need a - _Benson_- there should be a-

"Benson?"

The gumball manager snaps out of his micro-hysteric. His mind still rattled about all the defensive measures they need.

"Is something wrong?" Skips asks concerningly.

Benson pats his old friend on the shoulder, "Keep up the good work you two. Feel free to take a break." At this, he wanders off to the other parts of the compound. Starla and Skips are left where they stand, baffled.

The gumball manager walked over towards the ruined cafe. There were a few crates sitting on the sidewalk in front of the ruined restaurant. "How we doing?" Benson asked.

"Consider'n the fact that we're low on guns, half my shit blew up, and the fact that all these buildings are sagging like an old woman's tit... I'd say we're purty alright," said Roger, the former car mechanic.

Roger and his son had helped Benson in his attempt to overthrow Gene. He gave up a large share of his stocked goods, which now lay in pieces strewn across a two block radius. Still, Benson never did reimburse his old car mechanic and faithful friend. Meeting after the Battle of Twin Peaks, giving Roger and his son a place to stay was the only way to absolve his debts. The goodies they may or may not bring also made a difference.

Jared was loading bullets of various calibers into what little magazines they had. The rest of the ammunition was placed in small metal tins.

"I mean the guns. What do we have?" Benson asked more directly.

A four foot long leather gun bag was opened as Roger explained, "Gotchur AR you picked up, a mossy-rock salt, yer glock, a twenty-two that would be a better club than a rifle, and daddy's Sig handgun. It's not as well as I'd like it to be, but do-able."

With the excitement of yesterday, Benson never witnessed their poor display of an armory. "I thought you told me you were stocked," he countered while reaching into the bag and pulling out his glock handgun. It would be nice to have on him.

"I said I had enough for me and my boy, not for a fuckin' army."

Benson sighed and rubbed the sweat off his forehead. With a disappointing tone, he questioned, "Any problems with them?"

"Apart from the ten-twenty-two bein' a pile o' shit, not much. The rock salt here," Roger said as he lifted the Mossberg 500 shotgun from the bag, "The slide is tough to pull. It's stuck or somfin. I was gonna take it apart tonight and-Jared! What did I tell you, boy?!"

Jared paused. He was mixing the 7.62 ammo in the magazines. "Come on, they both say the same thing! What's so bad about it?"

"What's gonna happen is that Thomas kid's goin'a blow off his fin'ners, then you're gonna get a boot so far up yer rear you'll be waddling for a week, we clear?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway," the mechanic said turning his attention to Benson, "yer boys come back yet?"

Benson shook his head.

"Hmmph, well lemme know when they do, I wanna see what I got for Christmas this year."

Benson replied without care or interest, "Will do." He wandered off again.

From a distance, Skips kept his gaze on the former park manager. Each gesture, each glance went under the yeti's thorough inspection.

Starla, who sat next to him, instead focused her attention elsewhere. "Mitch has been gone for a really long time," she muttered aloud.

"Knowing Muscle Man, I'm sure he's fine. If there's any trouble, he would handle it," Skips reassured.

She smiled briefly. She continued her watchful eye around the cityscape. "There's not much left, is there?"

Skips looked back at Benson. "It's not what's gone that worries me," he replied, "It's what changed that really scares me." As he said this, his attention did not retract from the gumball manager for a single second.

Benson stood at the opening of his crescent shaped fortress. His arm dangled with the glock in his grip. The dark gray skies showed no sign of relenting. He kept a watchful eye on the road in front of him. He pondered where the others could be.

Then he stood in thought, _"I'm responsible for them."_ The grip on his glock tightened. _"Things are going to get worse, much worse. But I'd rather die than let my family get hurt."_ He cringed at the painful reminder. _"It's my duty after-all."_

Two figures arose on the far end of the block. At first glance, it looked like they came back.

Wait...

Benson shifted his finger onto the trigger.

"Hey."

"Hey!"

Benson whistled back for the others.

The bustle of hurried feet sounded off behind him. The others arrived behind beside him, guns clad and nervous triggers lay at the ready.

One of the strangers was much taller than the others.

The smaller one, who appeared to be a little girl, gasped. She stood behind the taller one's leg. The other had a long, grizzly white beard and a dirtied suit. He donned a brown bag.

He raised his arms at chest level, "Woah. Take it easy, we're not here to hurt anybody."

Benson demanded, "Who are you and-" he gazed at the golden crown attached to his belt. He knew whose it was. "Where the hell did you get that?!"

"Get what?"

"That! The Crown on your belt! Where the hell is he?!"

"W-who?"

Benson grew more frustrated and stepped forward, grip tightening, "Mordecai! Where the fuck is he?! Blue Jay! Long beard! Hell you're even wearing his- oh my god..." He lowered his gun.

Skips realized the situation long before Benson did. Since the beginning his finger was kept off the trigger of the twenty-two. He lowered his gun alongside Benson's.

"Mordecai... W-... what happened to you?"

Simon squinted, "Uhm, I- Benson, right? I-... I hardly remember past waking up this morning." Mordecai held fuzzy memories of his, no, _their_ days working at the Park.

"Jeez..." Benson completely lowered his glock to his side.

"Mordecai-" Simon looked to see the inquirer. Skips continued, "What do you remember about yesterday?"

"I-I think, _nnrrgg_" he grabbed his head for a second, "I'm sorry, it, uh, it hurts sometimes."

"Do you remember anything about Rigby?" Benson asked anxiously. It would be some sort of good news to hear that his former employee met his end.

"I think so."

"Is he alive?"

"I think so."

Skips asked towards Marceline, "What's your name sweetie?"

"M-Marceline," she said, still unsure of everyone.

"You don't have to worry, we're friends of Mordecai's," he smiled. She lessened her grip on Simon's pant-leg. She noticed Jared from the others. At least there was another kid.

Simon explained her story, "I found her this morning. Her parents are gone and she had nowhere else to go."

He did not want to do this. By God, little girl or not, he would kick him back into the wastes. Mordecai almost killed everyone when he found the Crown, he went off chasing Rigby _twice_, hell he even let Audrey die! All he brings is dead weight but with a nuclear clock on it.

Benson turned to Skips. The yeti, who was already locked in eye contact, gave a convincing look. Without even saying anything, he pressured Benson.

Family is family.

Damnit!

"Would you like to come inside?"

Simon chuckled, "I don't have a choice now, do I?"

"I guess not," Benson said with a subtly furious tone masked by friendliness. "Alright, back to whatever you were doing."

As the others went back to their respective jobs, all the while keeping a lookout for the two new comers, Simon and Marcy stopped for a moment. Marceline tucked at his pants. With Simon's attention, she asked, "I thought your name is Simon."

It would be too hard to explain all this stuff. Hell, Mordecai doesn't even know it himself. It would be better just to keep it all simple. "Oh, I think Mordecai's just an old nickname."

"You said it hurt. What does that mean?"

"I, well, I can't remember somethings."

She pursued, "Like what?"

"Well, I don't know. I guess things about my life, where I went to school, my parents, stuff like that."

"Is it because of that?" she said pointing at the Crown.

He was stunned. "You're pretty clever," he chuckled lightly.

"Well if it's hurting you, why not get rid of it?"

"It's-uh, it's complicated. I wish I could Marcy." He broke her chain of questions, "Anyway, let's go meet everyone else."

* * *

Thomas and CJ's running had decreased to a light jog before finally ending in panting. They had long since cleared their pursuers.

Thomas fell back against a streetlamp, chest rising and lowering with each audible breath. CJ, on the other hand, had her hands behind her head. She continued to pace back and forth. Her very nature seemed as if she was preparing to take off in another sprint. She regained her stamina much more quickly than her temporary partner.

Thomas finally asked, "So, _huff heff,_ who the heck were those guys?"

"Just the local dickheads," she lied, "To be honest, I don't know why they were following me to begin with."

"Did you do something to set them off? I mean, I wouldn't be chasing someone across half the city without a good reason."

"Well the first bozo tried to rob me. When I kicked his ass, he called for back-up. Then I ran into you," she fabricated. It was impressive. CJ lacked even the slightest of eye movements, sweating, or any sign to indicate she was lying through her teeth. Thomas believed her. "So here's my question," she asked, pausing her pacing, "Why on earth did you try to help me? And why do you want me to come with you?"

"I-I, uh, well," Thomas stuttered. Unlike her, his eyes ran frantically. He chuckled, "Well, you did steal my gun, but um, heat of the moment I guess? I don't know. You just looked like someone in need of help."

"Well I didn't need your help," she hissed back, insulted at the idea.

"When we reached the dead end you did."

"Yeah, well because I had to also worry about some idiot behind me."

At this, she started off in the other direction. Thomas pushed himself off the pole and gave chase, "Hey, I was just trying to help!"

She pivoted back to face him, "Do you do that a lot? Getting in people's way?"

"It's called being a good person."

"It's called being a dumbass whose going to get his head blown off."

She turned once again and walked off. "Hey!" he called out, "Where are you going? I thought you were coming back to our camp!"

"Yeah," she responded without missing her step, "I changed my mind. If I didn't say 'yes' back there, you would've just followed me until we were both dead."

He ran up to her. She kept walking. "What else is out here?" Thomas said as he tried to get in front of her. Each time, she pushed him out of the way and picked up her pace. "I mean, where else can you go?"

"Stop following me."

"Look, do you have someplace to go? I mean, we have food, water, shelter; everything you need!"

"You really don't understand the meaning of 'no,' do you?"

Thomas' face grew puzzled. Then he formulated a conclusion, "You don't have anywhere to go, do you?"

CJ cringed, but continued walking.

"I know, your group might be dead or something but-"

"Shut up, Thomas."

He came to an even greater conclusion, "W-wait. Those guys back there. They-they had something to do with your group. I know it's hard to come back or you might still feel bad about someone dying; I know that feeling, okay?! But please, trust me, the best thing to do is move on and-"

She grabbed his outstretched, offering hand and kicked the back of his knee. Thomas' back sailed in the air before landing on the ground yet again. His M14 which sat slung over his shoulder came bouncing off his arm.

CJ picked up his rifle and pointed it at him, "You figured out. You happy now?! Congratufuckinglations! Thanks for the goddamn help. Now go find some other damsel in distress." She violently threw his rifle to the side. "You go around trusting people this much and you're going to run into someone who isn't as friendly as me."

She set off again. Thomas struggled to lift himself only to find the pain restricting him to the pavement. "I was just trying to help, okay?!" he yelled.

CJ stopped. "Why?"

Thomas awkwardly shifted onto his stomach, supporting his upper body with his forearm, "Because it's the right thing to do."

CJ shook her head, "So there really are people like you left in the world."

He eyed her turned back. She didn't even have a backpack. If she was truly on her own, then she would not make it very far. "Are you sure you really want to be on your own?"

She stood there, deep in thought. Thomas patiently waited. He finally realized he was still laying on the ground like a dumbass and lifted himself back up.

"Goddamnit," she muttered under her breath in a frustrated, yet relieved, tone. She turned. "Okay hero. _Heh_, so, where to?"

* * *

"I don't need them. I don't need anyone."

Rigby grinned viciously as he pranced through the blissful wreckage of the world.

He was on his own. He was free. The open world lay before him, already crisped asunder. All he had to do was tread on the ashes.

Mordecai was dead. After everything, he won. After Eileen, the constant inner demons, Thomas, Margaret, Gene, EVERTYTHING... he won.

There is no need to feel sorry for anything anymore.

There is no need to feel weak.

"You hear that?!" he called out. "You're not so tough! No one is! I fixed something for once! See?! ME! Rigby! I actually did something!"

Although his grin grew devilishly wide, light streaks of tears ran down his face.

Doubt still hung presently. The deepest depths of his conscience clawed their way upward. It wasn't Mordecai or Margaret or anyone else.

He screamed out, "What the hell else do you want from me?! Huh?! What do I have to do?!" His grin vanished.

The desolate wasteland was closing in on him. Every side felt crushing. The universe itself made him grow claustrophobic and frigid.

No matter what he did, his life still felt meaningless. There was nothing to change the past. Eileen and Don are still dead. The city is still destroyed. People are still dying.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He wept. Rigby fell to his knees. There was no way to feel happy. His pride from before was artificial, when deep down he felt nothing. Rigby wasn't even sure if there was any pity or sorrow left to feel.

He glanced to the side. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he said to his bag on his back. "Please."

_"I'm just enjoying the show, b__ut every performance needs its happy ending. What's yours?"_

"I... I don't know..."

_"You do not know because you have not reached it yet."_

He let out an empathetic chuckle, "So what's my happy ending?"

_"Only you can know that."_

"So how do I reach it?"

_"Killing one common man changes nothing. You cannot reach your happy ending because you are not finished yet."_

Rigby's breath accelerated. His heart pumped faster at the realization of what he needed to do. H wiped the tears off his face. A brief grasp at his hilt ensured his M1911 was still at the ready.

He lifted himself to to his feet and began walking.

Rigby knew where he had to go.

_"We're not even at the halfway point."_

* * *

It's a little short, but the next will compensate.

I promise, this will not drag out as much as Part 2. These are just a few setup chapters. I also planned on some very subtle, change over time character development; better symbolism with a hint of theology; _way fewer_ OCs to deal with; and memorable monologues in addition to the action.


	4. We're Not Responsible for Everyone

"Thomas! Thomas, where are you?!"

"YO THOMAS! Get your fluffy butt over here before I-! Uh... Oh man, I can't sound tough if I add 'fluffy', it's just messed up, bro," Muscle Man said directing his attention from the goat in question to High Five Ghost.

"THOMAS!" Fives screamed half ignoring his friend.

Muscle Man finally admitted, "Okay, I'm sorry man but at this point Thomas is on his own. We've been searching for over an hour."

"Do you think he's actually serious and just made his way back to the coffee shop on his own?"

"No way; he's too stupid to tell his elbow from his butthole. He's probably hiding in a corner somewhere going, 'Oh, boo hoo, where the fuck is High Five Ghost and that totally hot stud Muscle Man, who's better than me in every single way?!'" Muscle Man poorly imitated.

"So what should we do then?" High Five Ghost asked concerningly.

"I don't know, but it's getting kinda late. I do _not_ want to be stuck out here at night."

"What about Thomas? What if something happened?"

Muscle Man thought for a moment, "Then if he's so 'mature' then he can last the night. Or maybe like you said, he _could possibly have with the slimmest chances maybe_ found his way back to the others, but it's a long shot. Let's just go back, tell Benson what's what, wait for his balls to finish dropping, and try again in the morning."

Fives agreed. It wasn't that good of a plan, but at this point his concern for his own well being at night was more severe than finding a goat in a ten square mile haystack. After walking several feet, Fives shouted, "THOOOMMMMAAASSS!"

The fatter of the two recoiled clutching his ear, "AH! What the heck, Fives?"

"What? We're still heading back. But, you never know. We might just run into him."

"Well not next to my ear, I don't want to go deaf at the age of forty. Save that shit for when I'm like a hundred or something."

"THOMAS!"

"IDIOT GOAT MAN!"

"TOE-MAN!"

"TO-MÁS!"

* * *

Simon and Marceline walked through the soon-to-be-fenced-off entry way into Benson's miniature fort. Even though Benson said to get back to work, all eyes trained on the two newcomers.

..."You're pretty clever," he chuckled lightly.

"Well if it's hurting you, why not get rid of it?"

"It's-uh, it's complicated. I wish I could Marcy." He broke her chain of questions, "Anyway, let's go meet everyone else."

Benson's demeanor was much less than friendly. Just as Starla and Skips made it back to the fencing materials, the gumball manager called out, "Skips. I need you for a second."

Mordecai still held Marceline's hand as he walked to Benson. He remembered only fragments of his and Simon's former lives. Hardly any involved Benson except for distant recalling of shouting and screaming. "Benson," he said stepping forward, "Is there anything you need me to do?_ heh__heh_, I don't know about lifting those big heavy things, but if there's anything else you need me to do, I'd be happy to-"

"Can I talk to you for a second, Mordecai?" Benson interrupted just as Skips reached his side.

"Um, sure, I guess," Simon replied feeling nervous. Benson continued to clutch his glock handgun. He felt his palms and forehead begin to sweat.

Benson and Skips turned to head towards the cafe basement. Simon and Marcy took two steps before Benson stopped them. "Alone," he implied forcefully.

"No, I think if you have something to say to me, Marceline should hear it too," Mordecai replied.

There would be no easy way to solve this approaching standoff. Jared approached, "Hey, uh, Marceline, right? Do you think you could help me load ammo?"

Marceline looked up at Simon for approval. The bearded man looked to Benson before nodding back at his newfound friend. Marceline released his hand and joined the older boy.

As Benson, Skips, and Simon entered the cafe basement, they faintly heard Jared say, "Alright, so we need to put the ammo in these cans by shape. See, heres this one-"

"What, these cans?" the seven year old girl replied.

"Yeah, so we-" **_THUD_ **"MARCELINE!"

The three opened the heavy metal door and walked down the staircase. This led into a medium sized basement. At the far right side was a table on its side and scattered metal pieces and another table closer to the center. This one had a few kerosene lanterns on it. To the left, several sleeping bags lay on the ground. There were a few doors on the back wall and one on each side of the stairwell. With the food completely out of sight and there being not enough sleeping bags for everyone outside, it seemed that such rooms accommodated this.

Skips looked on as Benson flipped the table back onto its feet with a curiously puzzled expression. The gumball machine placed his glock on the surface. Then he motioned for Simon to take a seat on the bench of the other table.

Benson rubbed his forehead. He tried to wrap his mind around this magic bullshit. He finally asked, "So, you're really Mordecai?"

"I-I think so. I have bits and pieces of his memory, but all I can clearly remember is from waking up this morning."

"Are you?"

"I think, yes."

"Don't think; _are_ you Mordecai?"

"Yes."

"Prove it," Benson plainly asked.

"I-... I don't know how! Every time I try to think back my brain feels like its going to burst. Whatever memories I get come at random and in waves. I'm not sure if-"

He was silenced as a fist slammed into his jaw from across the table. Benson walked quickly to the other side. He grabbed Mordecai and threw him from his bench to the ground. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he demanded. His voice was lowered so the others could not hear. "You abandoned us yesterday! We needed you! _I _needed you! _Pops_ needed you! Instead you ran off, again!"_  
_

Skips came to Mordecai's assistance. He helped him to his feet. "I didn't come here to watch you beat him over revenge," he said gravely. It was a sign for Benson to calm his temper.

"No," Benson said directing his attention to Skips, "Skips, You're the most trustworthy person I know. I need your judgement." He passively motioned to Mordecai, "Sorry."

Skips followed Benson back to the other side of the table. Benson stared at Mordecai for a moment. The opposing party sat in fear. Simon's palms sweated and his heart raced. Skips' gaze was transfixed on Benson. Anything he might say could lead to something terrible. The anxiety in the room grew with each passing second.

Benson sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He spoke, "I'm going to cut right to the point. I hate you. I can hardly stand you in my presence right now. I can never forgive you for anything you have done. You are responsible for so many people's deaths; especially Audrey's and Pops'. And the part that really fucking ticks me off: you can't remember a damn thing. This must not even register with you."

Mordecai minutely shook with fear. Pings of regret filled him. His memories exploded outward. Pops was the one laying dead on the street. As quickly as these pains came forth, they vanished. His brain felt like it was ripping apart as each one flashback retreated back into the void of his subconscious.

Skips seemed frustrated and concerned by this tantrum.

"If it were solely up to me," Benson continued, "You would be gone. Maybe not just from my group, but from the world of the living."

"What about Marceline?" Simon quietly pleaded, "She's just a girl. She's alone and scared-"

"Don't think parading her around in front of me is going to make it better. But... family is family, 'and you don't give up on family.' That's what Pops, the same man who saved your life the first time you crossed us, the same man who stuck his neck out for you everyday until the bombings hit, the same man you failed to save... taught me. With that, I don't know what to do with you."

Skips gave his opinion, "We can't throw Mordecai out, not after this. Mordecai broke down over Margaret. He doesn't even seem to remember it anymore. Maybe this is for the better."

"But do you think something should be done?" Benson implied without removing his gaze from Mordecai.

"We are not like Gene," Skips replied forcefully.

Benson made the final decision,"You can stay, but first: your Crown. Give it to me. Now. No more games and no more hiding it. I don't care what happens to you after we take it, it goes. I'll do it myself this time."

"W-wait! You can't!" Simon's fear now showed outwardly. He could not contain his emotions. "I need it to live!" he erupted.

Benson stopped. "What...?"

"I-... I remember one thing clearly. When I fought with Rigby... I lost. When I woke up this morning, it wasn't from sleeping. It was, well..."

Words could not describe what on earth happened to him. The only feasible way would be to show them. He unbuttoned his vest, then his bloody dress shirt underneath. He lifted his clothes back to reveal his chest.

"What. The. Hell?"

"This can't be good."

Where his heart should be, an icy patch bridged his skin. The power of the ice crown was the only thing keeping his heart beating. However, Rigby's shard still dug deep inside.

"Shit," Benson muttered. He was defeated. He had no choice but to accept the Crown. "Fucking shit, DAMNIT!" He slammed his fist hard against the table. "What the fuck?! Huh?!"

"Benson-"

"What the fuck do we do about this?!"

"Benson!" Skips ordered back the attention of his boss, "We don't have a choice."

Benson fumed. He grabbed his head as the worst migraine settled over. "Damnit..." he muttered. His face was beet red, "If you so much as touch that Crown and use it against us, I will kill you. This will not be like last time. I will not hesitate to end your life. I do not give a damn about that little girl or what she thinks of you. I will kill anyone who dares try to hurt my family, even if it's one of us." He wanted Skips to hear this. The yeti found no way to object. He reluctantly remained silent.

Simon gave the ever slightest of nods. He understood how grave this was. The Crown looped to his belt felt much heavier. It was also right within reach, yet now untouchable. He found no doubt or restraint in his new boss' demeanor. If he wasn't careful, he would be at the mercy of a gun.

"MITCH!" they heard Starla shout from upstairs. It seemed as though the others had returned.

Benson broke the tension, "Well, it looks like the others are back." He grabbed his glock off the table. He failed to break his seriousness or his transfixed glare at Simon.

He brushed past them. Skips rested a hand on Simon's shoulder.

The patting of feet on the stairwell stopped. From the door they heard Benson mutter, "No no no no no," before running off.

* * *

"THOMAS!"

"DUMB-AS!"

The shouts broke through the veil of seclusion. A finger on the trigger. Sweat in the palms. Body pressed against the corner of some god forsaken building in the shallow, empty remains of a life that once was.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew nearer. They would pass here soon.

The glock chambered a fresh round. Such a small fragment of metal could bring the end so quickly. The .40 bullet waited its turn, ready to see if it was its day to kill.

The stomach screamed. It yearned for the nourishment it failed to receive for the past day. Yet, its attention faded as that of these strangers grew monotonously.

If the events were to follow, these would be the first two to fall at these hands. A virgin to the battlefield, the will to be born by fire was all too present.

They were within a few feet.

It had to be now when they are off guard.

A spin of the heels around the corner led to-

"Muscle Man?!"

* * *

Benson ran from the cafe. Skips and Mordecai were close behind.

Outside, the entire group stood around the newly arrived. Muscle Man held his arms around Starla. She felt relieved. For a moment, the young woman feared for the worst.

Even more intriguing was the distantly familiar face. A robin stood in the center of the group. With Starla breaking her hug with Muscle Man, she and Margaret immediately divulged into ecstatic conversation. It had been far too long. Marceline also became introduced to the newcomer, whom Marceline seemed very pleased to meet.

Benson broke the circle. Not her. Anyone but her. He just finished with Mordecai. He thought the past was behind them. But with her here now... what the hell would Mordecai do? "What the hell?!" he directed towards Muscle Man.

Margaret stood her ground, "Excuse me?"

"We can't be bringing every survivor we see!"

"Benson, _it's Margaret,_" Starla intervened for Muscle Man's behalf.

"We're good friends with her; it's not like we're bringing in a stranger," Fives defended.

"I know, but I don't care. We don't have enough food for this many people! We already took Mordecai and Marceline today, we can't keep taking people in!"

Margaret tuned him out. Her entire attention fixed itself upon that one phrase. Everything at once faded to the background.

Mordecai...

There's no way...

She turned behind the authoritative gumball. Behind him stood Simon. He no longer held any resemblance to the blue-jay that his body once was. But the beard was the same. The clothes were the same. The Crown was there.

Deep down, she knew.

Mordecai...

It was him.

Tears erupted immediately.

She broke from the group and wrapped him in his arms.

The rest turned, spectating from afar.

Her cries grew louder and louder.

Feelings of joy, relief, gratitude, everything culminated into each arduous sob.

She leaned back, a hand brushing his cheek in disbelief.

It had been so long.

She never even got to say good-bye.

"I thought you were gone," she said fumbled between cries.

Those were the only words that could escape her.

She continued to embrace him.

Simon stood in disbelief. He returned the hug. His princess was here. Betty...

The others looked onwards. "She's staying," Skips said to Benson.

The gumball manager could not help but accept it. He shook his head, his head growing bright red. He was furious at how out of hand things were becoming with him and his friends.

He turned to Muscle Man and said in private, "What on earth were you thinking when you let her come along?"

"Broson, I thought it was alright. We all know her and trust her."

"Well _I_ don't. Fives and Thomas didn't say anything?"

Fives was listening intently on their conversation. "Uh," he awkwardly intervened, "Benson, there's something we've been meaning to tell you..."

It was at that point Benson noticed; where the hell is Thomas? "Fives..." Benson said, nervous about the answer.

"It's about Thomas..."

"What about Thomas...?" Benson stated.

"Uhhh, well... he-uhhh" Fives squirmed.

"He's not dead if that's what you're implying," spoke Muscle Man with a matter-of-fact voice. Thanks Muscle Man.

Skips finally joined this conversation, "Then where is he?" The rest were still focused on Margaret and Simon but were slowly becoming enveloped in this miniature feud.

"He, well... He kind-of sort of with no announcement or anything ran off on his own kind of sort of maybe," squealed High Five Ghost.

"What... The... FUCK?!" Benson stammered.

"Well, don't look at me, the fat dick over there let him run off!" Fives pleaded.

"Dude, who you calling a fa-"

"YOU TWO JUST LET HIM RUN OFF?!"

"Well, he's uh, kind of fast."

"YOU IDIOTS! Thomas cannot last out there on his own! What the fuck is wrong with you two?!" Benson screamed. His face grew bright red. He was seriously pissed over this, but things could not be happening in a worse way. And the worst part, all of this starting from fixing Pops' rifle occurred in less than fifteen minutes.

"What happened to Thomas?" Margaret asked, arms still around Mordecai.

Benson turned with a smile on his face. "Margaret, I know you're new. Oh by the way, welcome to the group. _hehe_ I know this is a tad bit of an introduction, but if you don't mind; it seems that Muscle Man and High Five Ghost managed to Completely Lose The One Member Who Seems The Most Vulnerable And I ToldYouToTakeSpecialCareOf-WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!"

"Benson," Skips said trying to calm him down, "Thomas wanted to go off on his own before. I think he's mature enough to make it back here on his own."

"Mature? M-M-Mature...? You mean to tell me that kid, the same one who lied about Rigby, kept guns in the house and didn't trust to tell us, ran off on his own numerous times, and managed to get captured by Gene is mature enough... Let's not forget the fact that his left arm probably needs surgery done at this point..."

Benson stood there fuming for some time. All stood by waiting to see what would happen.

Roger silently leaned over to Muscle Man, "So the kid made like sheep and got the flock out there?"

"Pretty much," the green man calmly replied in a hushed tone.

"Hmm, you bring back anythan' nice?" Muscle Man reached into his bag and pulled out Mark's revolver. "Oooooh, that's nice," Roger said as he snatched it.

Benson finally said, "I'm not just mad, I am fucking furious..."

"Are we gonna open a can of whoopass on him?" Marceline said innocently. This was followed by a stark scolding from Simon not to use caca-potty mouth.

Benson said, "You know, I changed my mind. I like this kid. But you know, she's right..." The enraged gumball calmly left the circle. He went to the gun bag and grabbed the AR. "Skips," he said aloud to the yeti, "Is the truck still working?"

Skips saw where this was going. "I know what you're thinking. We're not going after him."

"Bullshit! Bullshit! Am I hearing this from you right?"

"All I'm saying is that we give him a chance. He's survived worse. He is probably on his way here right now."

"Yeah, Mhmm, Roger, what time is it?"

"Pfft," the mechanic replied, "I don' have a watch. But it looks kinda late."

"So you think he would have made it back by now? Maybe?"

Skips fumed this time. He stood his ground. "We'll wait for another hour. If he's not here by then, then I'll go looking with you."

Benson couldn't ask for anything more at this point. "Alright. Fine. We'll wait another hour. Everyone... before I completely lose my mind, I suggest finding something useful to do."

The group nervously dispersed. No one felt right about this situation. The notorious duo were sneaking away, thankful they got off easy.

"Uh-uhn! You two!" Benson said pointing at Fives and Muscle Man, "We only have half of a fence. You two are going to set the rest of it up. Tonight. Now!"

"Aw man!"

"_NRRRGGRRGHHH!_"

With the others on their own, Margaret pursued her former fiance. She motioned for him to follow her. Marceline came along while holding her new protector's hand. She led the two discreetly to one of the far corners of the coffee shop. The toppled walls provided them enough seclusion from the others.

One they were in this hiding spot, Margaret immediately wrapped her arms around Simon and kissed him passionately. Tears were forming down her face. "Oh God, oh God I can't believe its really you," she spoke with a lover's care. Her child won't have to grow up without a father anymore.

Simon was less than responsive. He knew not what to think or believe. It only seemed like yesterday since he made Margaret abandon him on his coming home party for his expedition. The last time he saw Betty, she felt nothing but torment.

Marceline looked puzzled. She inquired, "What's going on?"

Margaret was stunned by the sudden voice. She turned back to see the seven year old she met with the others just moments before. "Marceline, right? Hi. Sorry about not really getting to talk. I'm one of Mordecai's-"

"Simon's," Marceline corrected.

"What?"

"His name is Simon. Why is everyone saying Memordeka?"

The innocent sentence dug like thorns. This can't still be happening. She wiped her tears, "Y-yeah, I'm... I was S-S-Simon's... girlfriend. Yeah."

"So you, like, were in love and stuff?"

"Yeah. We were," Margaret said looking back to Mordecai.

"Eww, that sounds all gushy and gross!"

Margaret ignored the seven year old. "Please tell me you remember. Please, just tell me."

"Margaret. I don't know who I am anymore."

"What...?"

"Listen, I-"

"No, what does that mean?"

HE tenderly placed her hands upon her cheeks, "Listen. Nothing has changed. But, I-... I can't tell what's real and what's not." He slowly began to well up. His eyes were red. "This Crown is the only thing keeping me alive but it's tearing my mind apart and there's nothing I can do about it."

She resisted the urge to sob. She held in her emotions, yet the tears still came gushing out.

"Betty, I-"

"No, no, just-!"

It was too much.

He held her, "I'm still here. I may not be here, but I'm _here_. Right now. Nothing's changed. I'm still here for you and the baby."

She wiped her eyes. "Mordecai..." she continued, "I need you here, but I'm not sure about this.I don't know how I can take it. I thought... I thought you weren't coming back and now you're here and you have Marceline with you and I'm pregnant and- _nnrrghh!_ It's too much, okay?! I need you here, but I don't know about what we're doing here."

She released him. "I'm sorry about that," she said apologizing for the kiss, "I guess I let my emotions get out of hand."

He sighed. Marceline grabbed his hand. She knew not what to say. She hardly understood what was happening or going on, but that single action seemed like the only course.

She then reached out for Margaret's hand. For some reason, it seemed to make everything okay inside. This sad stuff was boring and not fun. Marcy already cried for a day straight over her mom. She doesn't need to see any more of it.

Finally, she broke into their conversation, "Margaret, where do babies come from?"

The couple chuckled vigorously. Simon found this question the most awkwardly appealing way to end this. Margaret, however, her laugh seemed crossed with crying. She felt both ironic joy and chilling regret and worry at the same time.

Marceline was now a little angry that these two laughed at her comment. "Really, where do they come from?"

* * *

Rigby's wandering led him back to a familiar setting. He found himself back into the forest outside of Twin Peaks.

He felt relieved to be back; almost nostalgic. There was no Thomas, Margaret, or anything from his further life to dampen his vulnerable spirit. He was alone; joined only by the irresistible callings of the Lich and with his own guiltless actions.

It was, in its own way, peaceful. The lush green was much more appealing than the desolate gray of the ruined city. Rigby loved it compared to the aftermath, where he only encountered ruined friendships and dead ends.

But here... here he could be free to his actions.

So what can be done with this freedom?

There was only one thing on the little raccoon's mind.

He walked through the familiar setting only to smell something eerily even more familiar... blood.

The air reeked of it. This happened all too often when he was out here.

He followed his demonic instincts to the source.

It was about five or six. Dead.

Gunshot wounds.

Their blood painted the grass red.

"Nothing's changed," Rigby thought. Trade one enemy for the other.

He knew instantly who was to blame.

Rigby would wait. These scenarios happen all too often. It seems that whenever he finds these victims, his enemy just _happens_ to drop by.

It won't be long now.

_"What will you do to him?"_

"I'm gonna take him on a romantic dinner date. You know what's gonna happen," Rigby sarcastically replied.

Just wait.

After the agonizing wait, his patience was rewarded.

Doug came through the brush. He seemed in a hurried state. Then he gazed around.

"Rigby..."

"Doug," Rigby plainly responded.

"What is going on here?"

"You tell me." Rigby was much more forceful this time. He refused to be as appeasing as their earlier encounters.

"Rigby, I saw what you did to the Syndicates. What-... what are you thinking?! You killed every one of them!"

"They got what they deserved."

"No they didn't! Rigby, those guys... Do you really think they were that important?! You just murdered every one! We had an agreement! I told you not to get involved!"

_"He's only lying for his own interests."_

Rigby's hunches flared to no extent. Every fiber of his body urged plunging a plasmid knife straight through Doug's skull.

"Doug, I did us all a favor. I saw the bodies and I know what they were doing. I don't care what drugs they were giving you, I did what I had to."

"R-Rigby... You think that's what this is about; why I'm angry? Rigby, people are dead!"

_"Kill him."_

The raccoon gazed around him, "I know. Would you like to tell me why?"

The otter was now confused, "Why what?" This conversation was descending at a rapid rate.

"Why you killed all these people."

"Rigby-"

"_Kill him now."_

"You're no different. We can't live together here."

Doug was truly fearful, "Rigby, I need you to listen-"

"Doug, I don't think you understand. You tried to steal my job, you killed so many, you helped the people making everything worse...You and I have unfinished business..." Rigby stated gravely. His hands slowly formed their demonic flames. He was consumed by anger. His face showed no remorse.

Everything screamed, _kill_. His hunches flared to no extent. The Lich's temptation proved far too great. Rigby was ready for blood.

Doug shook his head at the ground.

He chuckled.

What? Why the hell is he laughing about this?! Rigby is an unstoppable monstrosity. In moments, Doug's body will be nothing left but melted sludge splattered and slashed across a quarter mile of forest. His limbs will be severed and his torso ridden with stab wounds and bullet holes.

Why is he laughing?!

Doug's thick Chicagoan accent cut through the air, "I was afraid you were going to say that. But, you know, Rigby, you took the words right out of my mouth."

What?

What on earth is he-...

No...

Rigby felt it now. Those hunches never were for Doug. The bodies, they were in a spot completely concealed by trees and bushes. Rigby was out in the open.

_They_ were waiting for _him_.

"Shit..."

At once, Rigby lifted a shield to his sides. The moment he did, the area was lit up with gunfire. Doug ran to the side, drawing his own pistol and firing as he ran.

Rigby felt the bullets bounce against his shield.

He needed to get out.

He launched demonic flames at both sides. He charged towards where Doug was. He dove through the bushes. A flash of orange. One of the prisoners stood with an MP5 set ablaze.

Rigby charged, slicing his rifle before stabbing the man clear through the chest.

More came.

They stuck to the trees for cover.

They fired, moving with precision like maneuvering. They were wearing him down.

Rigby's rage burned brighter inside of him. He screamed.

Then he charged.

He blocked the bullets as he sprinted. A fireball was sent to a near-by cluster.

A man stood by a tree firing. Rigby spun against the trunk around from the other side. The surprise knife stuck into the man's neck. Bullets ripped into his body that were aimed for Rigby. They exited his torso, strewing bloody chunks of raw flesh through the air. Rigby held tight against the trunk, bullets grazing inches in front of him.

A hunch to the left.

He drew his gun and extended his left arm, the right still holding the knife into the man's neck. He fired at an attacker's stomach. He clutched his chewed torso before another of Rigby's shot splattered his brains across the grass below.

His anger swelled.

He swung back around, sending massive engulfing jets at whoever he saw.

He cared not for himself, only that every one of Doug's men lay dead.

He was being worn down. His arms steamed ferociously. The pain was becoming too great.

The forest itself faced only the green deluge as death rained in.

Rigby's rage was delusional. All except two had escaped this reign of death. Yet Rigby continued to blast at the convicts. The over exhaustion was too much.

He backed away. The rest followed at a safe distance. No one could make the shot. Those that could had their bullets incinerated into nothing.

Rigby released the constant stream of fire. Now, fireball after fireball he lobbed. His arms began to slowly burn. He screamed with each toss.

Doug rolled to Rigby's side. He held an AK in hand.

Rigby turned to face him.

He tried to create a shield, only to find he no longer had the energy.

This is what Doug wanted.

_**BANG****  
**_

A round dug straight into Rigby's right thigh, ripping the muscle to shreds and tossing blood carelessly through the air. He fell to his knee.

_**BANG**_

The next drove into his left shoulder, pushing him backwards.

In his haste, Rigby failed to realize his surroundings. He backed himself against a rather large hill, which Doug's bullets pushed him down. The whizzing of Doug's bullets went overhead as Rigby stumbled backwards.

Down he tumbled. His frail, small body flipped and tossed around violently as he descended down the incline. It was as monstrously long as it was steep.

Empty screams escaped his mouth as he fell.

Loose twigs and branches clawed at his skin.

Finally, he reached the climactic summit with a gory _schlup_ against a resting log.

A sharp branch which stuck out from it now stabbed clean through the lower part of his right leg. The wood stuck straight through the other side.

He screamed violently. It was unlike any pain he every experienced before in his life.

He grasped his leg only to recoil violently. The sheer touch sent electrifying jolts through his entire body.

Blood was foul in the air as it smeared across the log and the raccoon's fur.

Gunshots were heard in the distance. Thankfully, he was too far away. The bullets arced downward into the ground further up the hill. But the would soon come for him.

He was crying. Tears cascaded down at unparalleled speeds. His screaming lowered.

_"Get up, Rigby._"

"I-I can't!"he screamed back.

"_They'll come for you, Rigby._"

The fear of death overwhelmed him.

He forced his torso upwards. The gunshot wound sat inches above the fresh stab wound. His left arm was but immobile.

He forced his right hand onto his leg. The pain was excruciating.

"AGGHHHHH!" he yelped as he tried to pry his leg from the wood. He was working his leg off, fractions of an inch per second. Blood spurted plentifully from the wound as it was re-opened.

At last, his leg was free.

He collapsed back to the ground.

His hunches exploded inside his brain. The log was riddled by three successive shots.

Rigby forced himself onto his left leg. He hobbled, hopping desperately.

He tried to apply pressure onto his right foot onto collapse to the ground. His own blood smeared his entire chest. It seeped into his fur. Though blood previously donned his chest, now the stench of _his_ blood was nauseating.

The rounds were falling further and further behind. Rigby had distance on his side now.

The tears never stopped descending down his face.

"Have to... get away..." he managed to think amidst the damage.

He made his way further into the forest, a bloody trail following behind.

Upon the hill, Doug released the magazine on his AKM. He loaded a fresh one. His face was conflicted with guilt and of civic duty.

One of his men came up to him. Doug ordered, "We're going after him. That trail's not going anywhere. Even if we don't catch him, we how to stop him. It seems like his magic whatever gets tired. The angrier he gets, the more tired he gets. Simple."

He racked back the bolt on his rifle. He looked off down the hill. The raccoon was now blocked from sight by the trees. He muttered aloud, "Let's go bag a killer."

* * *

I told you this would be more intense. The next chapter will be just as exciting.

Just letting you know, I will not be available until late Saturday, the twelfth. I will be camping, which means I will not be able to answer PMs, respond to reviews, post new chapters, or any of that sort. However, this will give me plenty of time to think for chapter 5.

Thanks for the read and have a wonderful, hopefully not as bloody, day.


	5. The Welcoming Committee

Just as a notice, I rewrote a part of chapter 2.

I'm sorry about the massive delays. I hope the long length of this chapter makes up for it. However, some parts may be a bit rushed.

Not as much Rigby as I hoped, but there will be more in later chapters.

* * *

The forest ran red as the raw stench of blood and flesh consumed the air. A long trail of fresh blood law on the ground. At its end, Rigby struggled just to walk. His right leg bore two gory holes. It felt as though the whole appendage was decapitated. Yet when it merely brushed against the ground, the pain jolted through every cell in his body.

"What do I do? What do I do?!" ran frantically through his head. His magic was wearing thin. He was but normal flesh and now leaking blood. The only defense he had was his M1911. But his left shoulder was also marked with a large bullet hole. He didn't know if he even had the strength to lift it to eye level.

He was crying profusely. However, he failed to notice. His only thought was to run.

Doug stood with his fellow convicts. "Alright, here's the rundown," he spoke with his thick Chicagoan accent, "This Rigby guy's bleeding out. This is the only chance we may get. If he gets his strength back, don't worry. The angrier he gets, the more he tires himself out. There's some type of girl, I don't know, but when I mentioned her he got pissed."

The group around the otter stood reloading and fiddling with their rifles. He continued, "I want groups of five. Don't stay clustered, fan out. Twenty foot spread. The bigger bullets work best. Anyone with an AK or an AR out in front. Now let's go!"

At this, the parade of orange jumpsuits made their way down the hill. All the while, Doug shouted orders for specific groups to move in different directions, to be careful, and not to fuck up.

Further away, Rigby collapsed with his back against the trunk of a tree. The pain swelled through his leg.

He breathed heavily, tears still escaping. His gnarled leg looked far worse than he imagined.

He could feel his instincts flare. Doug and his guys were coming.

Rigby closed his eyes.

_"What are you doing?"_

Rigby couldn't form the words to reply. Instead, he sat there motionless.

_"They're going to kill you."_

His torso shook. He could feel himself beginning to sob, but resisted. Everything hurt, but he refused to cry again.

He can't die like this.

_"Get Up, Rigby."_

The raccoon shuffled his back up the tree until he could get his left leg under his body. He cringed during this affair.

He veered to the right.

Hopefully he'll lose them.

As he hobbled, throwing his one good leg in front of him while the right dragged behind, the bag bore down heavily on his shoulder.

There was shouting behind him. Rigby glanced over his shoulder. Through the dense woods, he could see tiny flashes of bright orange.

He spun around quickly. He blankly fired at nothing with his right arm. He hoped it was enough to make them seek cover. Rigby re-holstered his weapon and continued his escape.

He could feel them coming upon him. It sickened him; the thought of dying like this. He didn't want to lose his life out here at the hands of these criminals. He was better than them. He was doing what was right. He would rather be anything other than being just another casualty in this forest of death.

At last, his poorly ventured escape came to an end. Before him sat a rather thin, yet deep looking river. He stood on the bank five feet above the water. It was a deep brown. The bottom even at the edge of the bank was almost impossible to see.

Rigby panicked.

He could feel them right behind them.

He glanced behind his shoulder. Doug was there. They looked each other straight in the eyes.

Doug readied his AK.

In one final effort of desperation, Rigby leaped.

He fell straight into the river beneath him, gunshots roaring over head.

The murky water was pure ice on Rigby's fur. The pressure on his leg and shoulder set his nerves on fire.

As Rigby opened his eyes in the dense river, all he could see was mud; a thick brown that masked everything in sight.

He struggled to hold his breath under these circumstances.

Bullets whizzed by through the water.

The strong current carried his frail body.

Rigby's lungs were at their breaking point.

At once, Rigby swam to the surface with his one good arm. The air came rushing back as he gasped.

They were covering the entire side of the river bank waiting for him to resurface. Doug was at the forefront.

As if forced, Rigby held his breath and fell once again beneath the surface.

Shots were breaching through the water.

Rigby swam deeper.

He was terrified, yet he felt in his gut that the only safe place was as far beneath the surface as possible.

The current still dragged him away.

All he had to do is let the current carry him to safety.

_fwew_

A bullet struck the water next to Rigby.

The raccoon turned downwards and pulled with his one good arm.

He closed his eyes. It was much more comfortable than staring at the enveloping murkiness of the water.

His hand smacked against the dirty bottom. The current dragged him against the dirt.

_"Get out!" _The Lich warned.

Rigby struggled to force his body upwards. Every stroke was unbearable. Worse yet, it seemed as though the river's current held him to the bottom.

He cringed. His lungs began to throb.

His chest felt only a burning sensation.

The world blurred into disillusionment. Floating or sinking, Rigby couldn't tell what was happening.

The agony he felt inside grew more intense with each passing second. It spread through his entire body until only a dim numbness remained.

His senses were beginning to fail him.

This river would be his grave.

In his last moments, the raccoon reached behind into his backpack. He shuffled the soaked, loose objects until his finger burned at the touch.

It was Eileen's necklace. It jolted the pain back into his body. It was all he had left.

His tears blended with the brown water around him.

He unhooked the chain and put the necklace around his neck. He would die thinking of her.

The pain went away as he relaxed.

The cold water forced itself past the escaping air in his mouth.

His last sight was the red gem of Eileen's necklace in his hands.

Then he let go.

* * *

Benson paced eagerly around the makeshift fort. His eyes were deadlocked on the road leading up to their camp. Skips, who was not nearly as nervous, simply sat waiting patiently for the inevitable to happen.

Muscle Man and Fives were wheezing as they lifted the heavy steel pole until they got to the hole in the ground. They took a short break before pouring the concrete. Muscle Man's sweat completely soaked through his shirt. The look on High Five Ghost's face gave an idea of how badly he must have smelled. Starla joined the nefarious duo to help out her boyfriend.

Roger scolded his kid for knocking over the ammo cans while Jared pleaded that it wasn't his fault. Marceline chuckled cynically as she walked past the two with Mordecai and Margaret. Simon yanked her hand as a sign to stop laughing. Yet once they were out of earshot, they chuckled at her mischievous deeds.

Despite the seemingly bustling activity, all attention was fixed on the road. Everyone glanced occasionally in anticipation for the idiotic intern to return.

There was one issue with the camp that had not been addressed: a door. With Benson pacing back and forth like a lost puppy, Skips took it upon himself to solve this problem. He headed over to Muscle Man, Fives, and Starla and relayed his idea. The next section of sheet metal would not be anchored on the other end, nor would it have a fenced backing. Instead, the wheel of a shopping cart would be attached at the very edge. Siphoned door hinges would be used to pivot the door from the post. Another door would swing across from it. The two would be joined using a padlocked chain.

It was an okay design, but it had one problem: it was the weakest point of the wall. Nevertheless, it was good enough for the time being. It also caused Muscle Man and Fives to work harder and focus less on the road. This was probably due to the fact that the immortal yeti was present, and within smacking distance.

It was after the first part of the gate was finished the concrete for the second pole was poured that two figures rounded the corner further up the road. Benson instantly knew one of them. He walked toward the yet-to-be-finished gate of the camp. The others perked up upon seeing Thomas arrive.

Simon began to lead Marceline away to the cafe door, "I think you should go inside for this part."

"Aww, but I want to see the funny guy get yelled at."

"I'll tell you all the gory details later."

"Word for word?"

"Eh, along those lines."

"Pinkey swear?" she said holding out her pinkey.

"Pfft," Mordecai scoffed, "Pinkey swears are laaaame. We'll make our own. Later. But right now, you need to head inside."

Benson glared at Thomas before turning a surprised glance to the figure next to him. Skips stood at his side. He hoped to quell any problems that may arise before they start.

"Thomas, where were you?!" Benson demanded.

He breathed calmly, trying to muster what little courage he had. There was only one way out of this, "I'm sorry Benson. I-, I wanted to go out on my own, and I know running off was stupid. I just, uh, I don't want you guys to treat me like I'm handicapped. I can do things everyone else here can. But I really think I-"

"I don't care what you felt, you ran off! You didn't listen and you just-! How dare you?!"

Skips tried to calm this all down, "Thomas, it's the fact that you ran off without telling anyone or where you were going. If you died, we would never find you. Do you were understand."

"Thanks Skips," Benson said passively but with a calmer tone, "But Thomas is not getting off that easy."

Thomas felt queasy. He knew he was going to get yelled at, but he still felt destroyed by Benson's shouting.

Mordecai was distracting by a tug on his pant sleeve. "Waiting is boring. So what did I miss?"

"_Gah._ What are you doing here? You can't be here, they're going to use caca-potty mouth." However, Marceline's puppy-dog eyes changed his mind, "Fine, but you are staying right here."

"But I made it back though! Isn't that what counts?!" Thomas pleaded more desperately.

"What's happening?" Marceline asked.

Simon crouched to her side, "Thomas is acting like a three year old."

"Ahhh."

"That doesn't matter. You ran off without telling anyone and you didn't listen to what I told you to do! And you expect that makes you more mature somehow?!"

"Ooow he looks pissed." Marceline inaudibly gasped, causing Mordecai to recognize his error, "_Ahem_ I mean he's a meany-head Johnson."

CJ stepped forward, "Uhm, hi. I'm CJ. Look, I know I shouldn't get involved, but if it weren't for Thomas I'd be dead right now." Thomas blushed and smiled at this. "Saved me from something he caused anyway, so..." she muttered so only Thomas could hear. His smile turned upside down.

"I'm sorry," Benson said interrupting the conversation, "Hi. I'm Benson. I don't know what Thomas told you, but we can't take anyone else in."

"Hmph," she sighed while glaring at the intern.

"What?!" Thomas replied, "But CJ saved my life like five or six times! What do you mean we can't take her in?!"

"We've already Mordecai and Margaret come back today and there's no room left. Besides, we don't even know her!"

Thomas was stunned by this. "Wait... M-Mordecai's... alive?" He glanced through the crowd until he saw a figure dressed in a fine suit crouching next to a small child. Even though the beak was gone, he could tell who it was. "MORDECAI!" he shouted. His eyes grew red and a great smile sat on his face. "Oh man, I can't believe it's really you!"

Mordecai stood up, replying back, "Hey Thomas..."

"Dude! I can't believe it!" The intern tried to step towards the others, yet Benson stopped him. "We're not finished here yet," he said plainly as he took a step forward. He'd already lost his way once today due to an emotional reunion. He'd be damned if he'd let it happen a second time.

CJ, on the other hand, felt a completely different emotion: embarrassment.

It wasn't until this moment she realized that Margaret had been glaring at her since she arrived. Her eyes were cold. Margaret remembered all too well what happened when she tried to date Mordecai and ended up destroying the cafe in the process.

"Oh, hey Margaret," CJ greeted awkwardly with a wave.

"Hey," Margaret replied with her arms crossed.

"You two are friends?" Skips asked curiously. Benson groaned internally: another excuse to bring someone in.

"I don't think so."

CJ blushed with nervousness and a touch of spite.

"So now what?" Roger inquired.

"'What now?' There is no 'what.' She can't stay with us. There's nothing else to it," Benson stated.

"Please! Benson. She saved my life... At least let her stay the night," Thomas pleaded.

CJ relunctantly followed, "Yeah. What he said. Just for tonight and I'll be out of here in the morning."

Benson clenched the bridge of his nose. "Fine! Fine! Whatever! I need time to think anyway. Everyone, get back back to work!"

The others scattered slowly back to their other jobs. CJ spoke to the timid goat, "Thanks, I guess. Even if it's _only_ for a night. Anyway, might as well get to know everyone."

"Well, I could-"

"Thomas," Benson demanded. "May I have a word with you?" Skips skipped towards them. "In private," Benson added. The yeti reluctantly backed off.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," he advised.

Thomas cowardly shrunk in response. "Um, I'll see you later, CJ."

With that, he followed Benson. The gumball manager stopped at Roger quickly and whispered, "Hide the gun bag." Then the two headed to a more secluded part of the camp.

Skips joined Starla, Fives, and Muscle Man at the gate. Seeing nothing better to do and no one else who would be as friendly, she joined the four. "Hey guys," she introduced herself.

Skips welcomed her, "Sorry about Benson. He can be tough sometimes. Anyway, I'm Skips." CJ tried not to chuckle at the name. "That's High Five Ghost."

"How you doin'?" the ghost informally greeted.

"This is Muscle Man."

"I'm just here because I bring the sex appeal," the green man slyly said, cocking his thumb. This received a hit from Starla.

Skips tried to ignore that comment, "And his girlfriend, Starla."

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"Well you all know me. _heh_. So..." CJ felt uncomfortable standing with all eyes on her. "What's all this?"

"We're working on the second half of the gate. Would you care to help out?" Skips asked politely.

She agreed and immediately went to work with the others. The concrete in the other pole finished drying. As Muscle Man and Skips held up the heavy slab of sheet metal, CJ went to work attaching the shopping cart wheel while Starla and Five got the hinges. CJ glanced at the rest of the camp. "So what's everyone else's story?" she asked. The cloud girl finished bolting an _L_-shaped piece of steel to the metal and began to attach the wheel underneath.

Skips, who stood next to her, spoke, "The father and son over there are Roger and Jared. They just joined us yesterday, but we were friends before this. You already know Margaret."

"Unfortunately."

"Do you know that she's pregnant?"

"What?"

"She made the nasty with Mordecai before he went cray-cray," Fives answered.

"Ugh, Fives! Shut Up! Never speak again!" Muscle Man complained.

"Anyway, there's Mordecai and the last one is Marceline. She showed up with him less than an hour ago. They met this morning," Skips concluded.

"That's Mordecai?!" she said in disbelief. "He looks so different. What happened to him?"

Skips began, "I should have gotten rid of it... For a while, the Crown he has on his belt belonged to a close friend of mine named Simon. He died twenty years ago and-"

Muscle Man did not feel like sitting through this. He interrupted, "Long story short, Mordecai's going crazy and the Burger Queen crown is turning him into that Simon guy."

"You know, I could have told her that myself," he teased.

"You were taking too long, gramps. And you know who else could have told her that myself...?"

"Come on!"

"Muscle Man, please."

"This is always the best part."

"Wait, what's going on?"

Muscle Man froze there. The objections were too great. "Fine, nevermind then."

CJ was befuddled, "I am so confused right now."

Fives said in disappointment, "Aw, but that's the best joke."

"It's this dumb joke he does," Starla explained, "Trust me, you don't want to hear it."

"Come on, baby, you know you love it when I tell jokes."

"Well... maybe a little..."

CJ turned away from their conversation.

In the distance, Mordecai was impersonating the previous argument with Marceline. The two were chuckling hysterically. Yet, farther away, Margaret sat on one of the destroyed walls of the coffee shop watching them. She looked nervously at the other two. Her right hand was grabbing her left arm. CJ could see the pain on her face.

She knew those two were close. From what she heard from Muscle Man just now made her feel all the more sorry for the robin.

The gate was finished. CJ looked back to Skips. The wise yeti gave her a slight nod, knowing her intentions.

The cloud girl left the others and sat beside Margaret. The robin shuffled slightly away from her.

"Hey," CJ greeted.

"Hey."

They both watched Mordecai for some time. Finally, CJ spoke, "You know, it seems crazy, huh? I mean, we got so worked up over him and in the end he turns out like this ... well, I heard about you and him. I'm sorry."

Margaret turned towards her. She did not feel angry with her anymore.

"Look, how about we start over? Like the whole thing back at the coffee shop never happened. Deal?"

Margaret smiled, "Deal." They both paused for a moment. "It's funny. You know, we're at the coffee shop now."

CJ shot around, "Wait, what?! I-I mean, what I did seems like nothing now, but... jeez... Seems like there's nothing left untouched."

"It wasn't the bombs that did this..."

CJ turned back around curiously.

"It was-, someone else... someone I knew..."

"Do you want to talk about it, or him?"

The robin shook her head, "I think that's for another time... Thanks CJ, for this, I mean."

She smiled, "Well, you can't really choose who you get to hang out with anymore, can you?" They chuckled at this.

"MY MOM!" came belching from a distance.

"OH MY GOD!"

"What in tha' sam hell?!"

"GENIUS!"

"I don't get it."

"I told you guys! You all knew it was coming!"

"Does he do this all the time?" CJ asked.

"I hope not."

* * *

_aughuhh __aughuhh _

Rigby inhaled sharply as the needed air was drawn back into his lungs.

He opened his water flushed eyes to the hazy world around him. He could at least feel what was happening. The muddy shore was beneath his chest as everything below his stomach floated freely in the water.

He coughed up the remnants of water left in his system.

His fists felt like bursting. He looked to find his hands tightly gripping the roots of an overhanging tree, whose trunk Rigby was resting beneath. His arms were compressed in a position as if they'd just lifted him out of the water.

"What just happened...?" he thought to himself as he assessed the situation. The last thing he remembered was drowning at the bottom of the river only to find himself now resting in the safety of the bank. How the hell did he end up here?

He glanced behind at the red bag slung over his shoulder. It was impossible.

Rigby rolled onto his back. Thick mud caked the light fur on his chest. He lay there, wheezing. The drowned raccoon neither had the strength nor the will to move anywhere else. The ground was soft enough to lay on. Granted, the dark view of the clouds overhead were not appealing to look at, but he could live with it.

"Did, _huff_, did you do this?" he asked aloud.

The Lich's silence was an answer on its own.

Rigby closed his eyes. He let his body relax while his mind tried to figure out what the heck was going on. "One minute you're trying to kill me, the next you save my life," he joked aloud. "Why?"

Again, silence.

He knew for a fact that the Lich was his savior, but there seemed to be no reason why. The only real idea was that the Lich was saving him for something else. That made Rigby shutter.

Maybe the Lich was genuinely trying to help him now. That was a crock of shit. But then again... he has been helping out more frequently. He was also the driving force for Rigby while he was in the woods since this all started.

Maybe the Lich could be trusted.

No matter the reason or even how the Lich saved him, Rigby let his mind slip. He just wanted to relax and get his strength back.

A momentary nap would not hurt.

* * *

As the grim daylight became a dull night sky, it was time to settle in. Benson volunteered to stay outside for watch duty. There were no objections.

The dinner consisted of two or three cans of Debby Mocker's Best Pork N' Beans, which rather tasted like canned roadkill, and a pan of instant noodles. Skips brought a plate up to Benson.

Throughout the entire meal, however, Thomas remained inertly... out of it. There was no other way to describe it. He was only passively involved with the others. Something was troubling him deeply.

Marceline, who sat next to him, hated to bear to see such a pathetic display of wimpiness. "You're ears are really weird looking," Marcy bluntly said to Thomas.

"Yeah. Thanks, kid."

"They're all floppy and sticking out the sides of your head."

Her analysis could not have been more adept. Indeed, his ears were quite gargantuan and they were in fact very floppy. Like the Himalayas, they jutted out the sides of his head beneath his antlers. What a glorious sight to behold. If only one could bear to bask in the shadow of Thomas' holy ears.

Marceline reached up and grabbed his ear, "Ooh, they are floppy."

"AGH! What the hell!" he said pushing her off of him. Yet, she kept reaching out for his ears.

"What's going on here?" Simon asked, intervening their conversation.

"She's grabbing me!"

"What?" Simon questioned.

"She's grabbing my ears!"

"Your what?"

"My ears!"

"OOOWW! Look at those ears!" Mordecai said with an awed face as he extended his arm out to Thomas, fingers wiggling maniacally.

"NO! AGH!" Thomas shrieked as he fell backwards off his chair. This erupted a chorus of laughter from everyone else. "It's not funny!" he said, rubbing his ears.

Suddenly, it died out immediately. It was as though the flame of a candle was blown out.

Benson walked down into the basement and now stood before them. He was less interest in their jokes and moreso with one person in particular.

"CJ, right?" he asked.

She nodded.

He sat at the table across from her. All eyes lay on these two. "I'm guessing since you've never heard of us that you were on the North side of town."

She nodded.

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. He struggled to find the right words. "Would you mind telling us what it was like."

She scoffed, "It was a dump. I mean, what else is there?"

"I mean, Gene, you know, the big bad mayor of our side who was murdering everyone and tried to kill us,-... he said that he was having a tough time dealing with your side of town."

"Well, yeah. It was a sh-" Mordecai's eyes pleaded with her. He couldn't reach Marceline's ears to cover them. "I-I mean, it was a crappy place." CJ rubbed her knees. She felt nervous talking about such a subject.

"Where's this going?" Margaret asked.

"What I'm trying to get at here is that Gene's dead. Yeah, that's great. But... whoever was on the North side, we may have to deal with them soon. I want to know exactly what we're getting into."

"I can answer that."

The conversation turned to the fourteen year old Jared who sat at the end of the table, "My dad and I used to make deals with them. Everyone would always talk about some crazy guy who ran the gang up there."

"Great. It was bad enough Gene's guys were practically soldiers; now we're dealing with gangs?" Benson groaned in his mind.

"I don't know who he was though."

"Rafael," Margaret answered. "His name's Rafael." CJ breathed a short sigh of relief from not having to talk about such a touchy subject.

Skips asked, "Is there anything you can tell us about him?"

"He's short, crazy, and murderous. He has bad mad swings and... he's surprisingly smart."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I met him."

Benson straightened up, "What does he have?"

"You name it."

"How many are we dealing with?"

"That's not what you need to worry about. No matter who he's up against, he always wins."

That last note struck a chord with Benson. Even though Gene appeared to have the upper hand up until the showdown at the square, that was all relative to their side. From his paranoia and anxiety, he could tell Gene was worried about something. He needed the publicity of executing Thomas to buy him time. Now he could put two and two together. True, Gene _could_ have won against Benson and the others, but in the long run, Rafael would have won the war.

The air was heavy after that. Not a word was spoken.

If it came down to it, they would have to face off against another Gene.

Benson stood up. "I'm going on watch. Goodnight." He struggled to leave the basement.

Any excitement that was there previously died down dramatically. Hardly any fun was to be had until it was time for bed.

* * *

Skips exited the confines of the former coffee shop. He looked out of the ruins to see Benson sitting in a lawn chair near the park truck. The AR was resting with the muzzle in the ground and the stock leaning on his leg.

Skips, "Well, party's over. I'll take the watch for you."

"I hope you're happy," Benson said fixing his gaze upon the yeti.

"I am, thank you."

Benson straightened his back, "We have way too many people here. Half of them we don't even know."

"Relax, Benson. More people just means more helping hands."

"And hungry mouths... That's only if they're all trustworthy."

Skips tried to reassure him, "You told CJ to leave tomorrow anyway. Besides, we're in a good spot right now. We have food-"

"For about three or four days."

"We're secure-"

Benson stood up, "But for how long? That's what I want to know. I know Gene is dead, but that doesn't mean everything's alright. Skips... I can't stop worrying about something happening. I know it will."

"You just need to relax, Benson. For now, at least. You've been putting too much stress on yourself. You're not alone, you know?" At this, Skips held out his arm. Benson paused, then handed him the rifle.

"I'll be on watch for tonight. You get your sleep."

Benson smiled. He looked back out to both sides of the road. Everything seemed okay. No gun-toting maniacs. No angry mobs. No Gene. "Thanks, Skips," he said to his friend. "I guess I'm heading in for the night. You're alright here?"

"I'm fine. Just get some rest."

At that, Benson escaped into the basement of the coffee shop and Skips was left to guard the others.

* * *

Thomas awoke to the faint sound of rustling. His eyes blinked open slowly as he heard things being moved around. There was hardly any noise, yet it was enough to awake the sleeping goat.

Only a single lantern was dimly lit on the other side of the basement. He could barely distinguish the lumps on the ground as the rest of the park gang.

Something shifted in the corner of his eye. It was completely silent. He could just make out one of the doors being opened and someone walking out of it. He could make out the puffy hair and slender frame.

"CJ?"

The girl wore Thomas' backpack and it looked filled. She was scanning the room constantly as she crept over the sleeping occupants.

Thomas looked on befuddled and confused. Why the heck did she have his bag. Then it finally dawned on him what she was doing.

The cloud girl tip-toed up the steps and out of sight. He could just hear the slight creaking of the metal door upstairs opening.

Thomas quickly rose from his sleeping bag. He bumped into a few of the others. Jared groaned before muttering, "Thomas, that's my refrigerator..." before drifting off again.

Thomas followed in her footsteps. He successfully avoided waking anyone else up. At the top of the stairs, CJ was crouched down. The metal door was only partially open.

She opened the door completely now and inched her way behind a pile of rubble in the coffee shop. She inspected Skips who patrolled the makeshift fort with his AR in hand.

"What are you doing?!" The whisper from Thomas startled her.

"Goddamnit," she muttered to herself. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she said in an irritated tone.

Thomas felt hurt by this betrayal. He replied, "Why are you doing this to us? I mean, stealing? After everything that's happened?"

"Well, I told you not to trust anyone. I guess this is your first lesson." She tried to set off only to have Thomas grab her arm. "What is your problem?"

"My problem? You're the one stealing from us! And why don't you trust anyone?"

She chuckled at the painful memories, "If you've been where I've been, you wouldn't trust anyone either. Besides, your friend Banny is going to kick me out tomorrow anyway. So what is wrong with me leaving early?"

"But this isn't right," he replied innocently.

She sighed while rolling her eyes, "Look, you're a good guy and all, but this is how things are, okay? I can take care of myself and I'm better off away from everyone."

She looked back to the courtyard. She scanned it looking for the yeti.

"You honestly think you can get past Skips?"

"Watch me."

"Look, just... stay here a while. I don't know, Benson let everyone else in. Who knows, he might even let you stay with us. Doesn't that beat running around by yourself?"

"Except you're forgetting that no one except Margaret really knows me, and I don't even know if she likes me. You are the only one who trusts me and look where that's gotten you so far." she stated. She couldn't bring herself to move her feet. The very fact he was here made it impossible to leave.

"Please, can you stay? Even if it's just the night?" he pleaded in a soft, heartfelt tone.

She looked frustrated at him then out at the courtyard. She groaned internally. This stupid kid won't leave her alone unless she somehow makes it all the way out of the country. "Thomas, listen, people get hurt when they're around me. Do yourself a favor and just let me go."

He was growing more saddened with each word. With puppy-dog eyes, he begged, "Just one night. That's all I'm asking. You can decide to do whatever you want after that."

The two still sat crouching against a broken wall in the hollowed out coffee shop. The gray clouds loomed over head. They only allowed the tiniest fractions of moonlight through their haze.

She shook her head, "Fine. But first I want to know what your problem is. Why the hell are you so obsessed with me? Do you like me or something?" That question caused Thomas to blush. "Are you just that insane? What?"

"I-, uh, well..." he sighed. He was going to be completely honest with this stranger. "You just remind me a lot of my mom. I never got to really say goodbye and I never got a chance to get over her and... I don't know. I guess hanging out with you just gave me a sense of closure." His voice was growing hoarse as his eyes grew red. "This is weird, isn't it? I mean, oh jeez. I'm comparing you to my mom."

"Uhhmm," she awkwardly replied, "I mean, I-I guess it's not _that_ bad."

"It is that bad, isn't it?" CJ nodded slightly. Thomas chuckled, his face still flushed. "Well, uh, how about something else. What did you do- before all of this, I mean?"

She rested against the wall, removing the bag from her back. Thomas took this as a good sign. "What do you want to know?" she asked.

Thomas froze, "I don't know, just, anything. Like were you doing anything before this?"

"You started it. I say you answer it first."

"No no no no, that's not how this works," he said cracking a smile.

She smiled, "I'm sorry Mr. referee, where's the rule book?" She imitated opening a large book and traced the page with her finger, "Ah! Page two-hundred something article whatever; Ahem, 'As decreed by the grand council of questionnaires, the agitator of said conversation must be the first to answer.' Hmph, looks like it's your move antler boy."

"Okay, first of all, that is bullshit. But, um, I guess I'll start. Uhhhh... I worked as an intern at the park. I never really had any girlfriends or anything. I lived alone with my mom out in Finnleyville. Uhhhmmm, that's about it I guess."

"Anything else? Is that all there is to the great and wonderful Mr. Thomas?" she asked.

"Oh, I went to college for engineering," Thomas stated.

CJ blinked at him, "Really. You were expecting someone to trust you in building things. Things that actually work and won't kill someone."

"W-well, _heh_" Thomas felt embarrassed, "I only ended my first year. True, I never built anything beforehand, but it just seemed interesting. Also, engineers make a _lot_ of money, so my mom kind of forced my hand."

"So what is an engineer doing working at a park...?"

"It was community college. I was just trying to get all the arts and humanities out of the way before I moved on to the bigger (and more expensive) stuff. The park knocked out like nine credits. And it was really fun, so I stuck there."

CJ asked, "So what kind of engineer?"

"Uhh..."

"You do know there is more than one kind of engineer, right?"

"I was going to figure that out later."

She tilted her head back, hardly believing anyone could be this stupid. "Oh, you're ridiculous!"

He chuckled, cheeks glowing red with shame. "Haha... So..."

"So...?" CJ was humoring him. She was somewhat invested in the boy's conversation, but most of her attention was still directed at the courtyard. It is not that she did not enjoy his company, it is just that CJ kept her priorities in focus. In addition, there was something else. She felt kind of sorry for him. He was so naive and seriously lacking in the common sense department. It was his ignorance that made her all the more guilty at the thought of abandoning him. Damnit! Even when he's not trying, Thomas still manages to annoy the hell out of her.

"So... what did you do?"

She paused. "I went on _a_ date with Mordecai once. Uhh... I'm like you. I got nothing going on."

"Well, let's start backwards. Since you didn't flip out on me before and call me a terrorist, you're from the North side?"

She sat up, "What?! I mean, point one for captain obvious, but what was that? A terrorist?"

"It's a long story and everyone else here already knows it. They can probably tell you all about this and-"

"Nope. Uh-uhn. This doesn't sound like the usual bullshit. This sounds like you genuinely have a good story to tell. There's this magic crap I still don't know about and everything else going on. I mean between Banny being insane, the fat guy's tits preparing to leave orbit any time now, Mordecai having some magic duhickey, and you being a terrorist, you guys have a pretty interesting gig here."

Thomas chuckled. Does this mean... did she just say that she'll stay? Thomas wanted to believe so.

It was at moment the two were caught red handed.

"Alright, that's enough you two. Party's over," Skips said with a smile and in a friendly tone. The AR was lowered to his stomach region. "It's late and you two should go back to bed." Anyone with a brain could see the feelings Thomas had, yet Skips was still clever enough to know exactly what was going on.

"Looks like you'll have to tell me about your devious plots another time," CJ teased.

Thomas smiled and blushed. Another time...

"You better watch out for this one. Don't even get me started on him," Skips joked towards Thomas.

"I think I can handle him. Speaking of which, can you handle _that_?" she said directing towards the rifle in his hands.

"As a matter of fact, I can tell you everything about this... except how to use it."

CJ stood up, causing Thomas to stand as well. He knew how to shoot. Maybe he could help too.

"May I?" she asked for the rifle.

Skips looked at the gun then to her. He was more trusting than Skips, but not stupid. "I think you can just tell me."

"Alright. Anyway, the first thing you should check is your breathing. You want to breath out, wait two or three seconds, then pull the trigger."

"Ye-yeah," Thomas awkwardly stated inserting himself into the conversation, "Because breathing out can make your body shake and-"

"Also, here, hold it like you think you should." Skips followed her command and shouldered the rifle. "No, you're gripping it too tight. The-"

"Yeah! The left hand should be a table and uh, well, uh Rigby told me that-"

"Thomas. I've got it," CJ interrupted while stealing his thunder. All of it.

Thomas rolled his eyes and waited patiently for CJ to go through the ins and outs. Once she finished, Skips felt more confident with the rifle in his hands. "Thanks," he smiled. "But it is really late."

CJ shrugged, "Alright, alright, were going. Oh! Thomas, you'll have to tell me why you're a cold blooded terrorist and all of your devious plots sometime. Anyway, goodnight!"

"Yeah! Uh, goodnight!" Thomas replied back.

Once she left, he breathed outwardly. His heart felt a flutter. He kept her with the group. He did. All on his own. On top of that, she seemed really interested in him for once.

Skips forcefully coughed to get the entranced goat's attention. "Thomas... I know what that was about."

"What was what?"

"You're not a very quiet person. You were lucky you stopped her. The only reason I'm not telling Benson is because I don't want to imagine how he'll react. But keep your eye on her. Goodnight." Skips left at this verbal warning.

Thomas shuttered before heading back inside. He now felt mixed about CJ after remembering why he went outside to begin with.

On one part, he liked her. It was indescribable why he was so infatuated with her. Yet at the same time, he was way too trusting. She could easily manipulate him if she wanted to.

Whatever his feelings, Thomas would make sure he spent more time with CJ.

* * *

_July(?) ?, 20?_

_This is my first entry since I've awoken from death and as Mordecai. That's the name they keep referring me as, but my mind screams out 'Simon.' I know I am Mordecai, but it's becoming difficult to know what to believe._

_My memories are becoming intertwined. I'm blurring thoughts and feelings together from both of my lives. Hopefully these entries, as well as those from my previous journals will keep me sane._

_I don't know why this is happening to me. I can't understand what exactly the Crown has to gain from this. Why must it force a persona onto me? It seems like it would be capable of subduing a host without the dual personality. __Maybe it is trying to finish what I̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶r̶t̶e̶d̶ Simon started before killing himself. That is the only logical theory I can think of. Nevertheless, I cannot dispose of it if I wished. The Crown, you see, it is saving me from death. While I was incapacitated from Rigby's stab wound, it healed the wound and is keeping my heart beating._

_Despite all this, I can't help but feel an attraction to the wretched thing. I know the dangers and what would come about; yet I cannot help but imagine fantasies of me wearing the Crown. They are always splendid. The warm frost, though deadly to others, feels as though it is a warming blanket._

_R̶̷e̶̷s̶̷t̶̷ ̶̷a̶̷s̶̷s̶̷u̶̷r̶̷e̶̷d̶̷,̶̷ ̶̷I̶̷ ̶̷w̶̷o̶̷u̶̷l̶̷d̶̷ ̶̷d̶̷e̶̷p̶̷a̶̷r̶̷t̶̷ ̶̷f̶̷r̶̷o̶̷m̶̷ ̶̷t̶̷h̶̷i̶̷s̶̷ ̶̷w̶̷o̶̷r̶̷l̶̷d̶̷ ̶̷g̶̷i̶̷v̶̷e̶̷n̶̷ ̶̷a̶̷ ̶̷m̶̷o̶̷m̶̷e̶̷n̶̷t̶̷'̶̷s̶̷ ̶̷n̶̷o̶̷t̶̷i̶̷c̶̷e̶̷.̶̷ ̶̷T̶̷h̶̷e̶̷r̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷i̶̷s̶̷ ̶̷n̶̷o̶̷ ̶̷s̶̷a̶̷d̶̷n̶̷e̶̷s̶̷s̶̷ ̶̷n̶̷o̶̷r̶̷ ̶̷i̶̷s̶̷ ̶̷t̶̷h̶̷e̶̷r̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷a̶̷n̶̷y̶̷ ̶̷r̶̷e̶̷g̶̷r̶̷e̶̷t̶̷ ̶̷f̶̷r̶̷o̶̷m̶̷ ̶̷t̶̷h̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷C̶̷r̶̷o̶̷w̶̷n̶̷.̶̷ ̶̷I̶̷f̶̷ ̶̷n̶̷o̶̷t̶̷ ̶̷f̶̷o̶̷r̶̷ ̶̷t̶̷h̶̷o̶̷s̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷a̶̷r̶̷o̶̷u̶̷n̶̷d̶̷ ̶̷m̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷w̶̷h̶̷o̶̷m̶̷ ̶̷I̶̷ ̶̷c̶̷a̶̷r̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷f̶̷o̶̷r̶̷,̶̷ ̶̷I̶̷ ̶̷w̶̷o̶̷u̶̷l̶̷d̶̷ ̶̷e̶̷s̶̷c̶̷a̶̷p̶̷e̶̷ ̶̷f̶̷r̶̷o̶̷m̶̷ ̶̷t̶̷h̶̷i̶̷s̶̷ ̶̷w̶̷o̶̷r̶̷l̶̷d̶̷ ̶̷a̶̷n̶̷d̶̷ ̶̷n̶̷e̶̷v̶̷e̶̷r̶̷ ̶̷l̶̷o̶̷o̶̷k̶̷ ̶̷b̶̷a̶̷c̶̷k̶̷.̶̷_

_I cannot believe I wrote that._

_I can't leave Margaret and Marceline, they are all I have left._

_I may as well mention Marceline in this entry. I met her not long after awaking this morning. Her mother is dead and her father is most likely the same. She bonded to me instantly, most likely because I was the only friendly face since her mom passed. She clings to my side wherever I go. Even as I write, she is sleeping no less than ten feet away from me._

_She has a curious nature to her I cannot begin to describe. Her skin is a pale gray, yet she is so full of life. She is peculiarly energetic and very mischievous. Her jokes are always against others but always in good fun. I'm surprised on how quickly she recovered from the loss of her parents._

_It seems I am to be stuck with her, not that I'm complaining. The company is always welcome. As is with Margaret._

_The young robin had a deep infatuation with me, yet I can hardly remember those days. She is bearing my child. I w̶a̶n̶t̶ need her with me._

_This is all I can write for tonight. I'm afraid I will not get much sleep anyway._

_-Mordecai_

* * *

Benson had everyone up and ready relatively early in the morning.

He was paranoid with the current state of the camp. Granted, the wall was completed, but he was not finished yet.

If someone began shooting at them, they would be out in the open. They needed cover inside the fort itself.

With everyone in a group outside, Benson dictated, "Alright, today, I want to put up some barricades inside the walls." It oddly felt very reminiscent of the meetings they would have at the Park.

"Aren't we good enough?" Fives said referencing the walls, wiping his tired eyes.

"No, we are not 'good enough.' If someone were to start shooting, we'd be stuck out in the open. Skips, Muscle Man, Roger, and I are going to run out and get supplies in the truck. Whatever we bring back, we're using. Tin foil, plywood, cars, Styrofoam cups, I don't care; they're going to be facing every direction. And it won't be done this afternoon, not after lunch; this morning." He noticed Simon and Marceline were making weird faces and mouthing words with their hands. "And stop it you two!"

Just before Benson started off with the others, Thomas stopped him, "Wait, what about CJ?"

Benson did not really care about that now. He just wanted all the labor he could get. "We'll talk about it later." Thomas' heart fluttered.

It was about two hours later that Benson and the others returned. The bed of the truck was completely filled with all sorts of building materials: wooden boards, sheet metal, storefront signs, bookshelves; you name it. Roger came following from behind with a red sportscar; for barricading purposes of course.

For two hours, the crew worked tirelessly to fortify the insides of the camp. Various barricades of all shapes and sizes laid strewn across the courtyard.

Eventually, something had to interrupt them.

"What the-..." Benson gazed over the fence. He whistled. At once Roger and Skips pressed against small gaps in the now completed fence, guns at the ready. The rest were still hidden, leaving the others defenseless.

The gumball manager walked toward the gate. It opened slightly as Benson stepped outside. CJ peered through one of the gaps in the sheet metal. She panicked. "Shit. he can't be here. He can't," she muttered as she backed away from the fence.

Benson's heart raced as he looked at the strangers before him.

"HI NEIGHBORS!" a small, energetic fox screamed with quick fervor and spastic arm waving. He wore brown cargo pants with a desert eagle sticking out from his crotch. His snout was dripping with blood. Two other men stood at his sides armed with AKs.

Mordecai tried to leave Marceline away yet she refused. "Aren't we going to make fun of them?" she innocently asked.

"This is serious this time," he said gravely. Marceline pouted and crossed her arms.

Margaret placed her arms on his, "I'll find out what's going on; you stay here with her."

Benson stood firm. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

Rafael shrugged, "Wha-what? No one says 'Hi' anymore? ...I-Is it the blood? It's the blood isn't it?" At once he began wiping his mouth, "I knew something was wrong."

Benson spoke, "You must be Rafael."

The fox's eyes snapped. "HOPY SHIP! You have ESPN! Wait, no...no, no no no, no. No. No no no."

He paused for a moment.

Benson saw the opportunity to speak, "What-"

"NO! No, no no. You're Banson...?"

The gumball machine tried to maintain his composure.

"No way! You're the guy who's been rustling Gene's jimmies?! Holy shit!" The maniac knelt. "I am your biggest fan. Please, please can I have your autograph? HEY! HEY! GET ME A PIECE OF PAPER!" he yelled to one of his henchmen. "THE WHITE THINGS YOU WRITE ON!" He made wild scribbling motions in the air.

Rafael waited patiently with his arm outstretched. Skips was the least sure of what to make about this.

"Thank you," the madman muttered as he received a notepad of paper. "Now, If I may, may I entice you for a handwritten autograph?"

"What do you want?" Benson bluntly snapped.

"To say 'hello' of course. Now that Gene's gone, it looks to me that you and I are the only ones left standing. Now normally, I would just be the last one alive, but I like you. Banny."

"It's Benson."

"Broson."

At the back of the crowd, Muscle Man uttered, "What?! I said that yesterday! No one caught it...? Anyone?!"

"I did," Fives replied.

The others paid no notice. "Also..." Rafael continued, "I was trying to find a little someone, not really important. But I may have heard that this individual may or may not have accidentally possibly hopefully not came to you by any chance?"

Benson struggled to decipher that question, "Who?"

Rafael waded back and forth on his toes, "Ah, just a local dick nugget. You wouldn't happened to have seen _her,_ have you?"

Benson stared him in the eye, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You paused-"

"What?"

"You paused for a second and you clearly just told me everything I need to know. You're pretty easy to read, you know. Anywho, can she come out? Some things were said and I feel awful."

Benson blocked the door, "I think you've overstayed your welcome."

"Aw shit. It's the sun, you know, it just kind of melted the road and now I can't move. Unless I can cum inside," he said shrugging.

CJ whispered to Thomas, "He can't know I'm here. Please, I have to stay out of sight." The two were currently on the side opposite that of the coffee shop. They would have to cross the doorway.

"I'm waiting!" Rafael called.

Benson said nothing.

"Is there someone else I can talk to? Why is it that HR makes a solemn pledge to anally screw everything it sees."

Skips approached Benson, still behind the wall. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know" Benson whispered to his friend.

"Who was that?!" Rafael yelled, regaining the conversation.

"What?"

"Who were you speaking to that was not in any way me?!"

The gate opened. Benson cringed in anticipation. Rafael's eyes shot open.

Margaret stepped outside. "What are you doing?!" Simon called from inside.

"Margarine!"

"Ed."

Rafael's arms fell limp, "Well. This is not what I had in mind. Huh. Okay then, I did not expect to actually find her here. Anyways, Hi. How have you been?"

"Fine," Margaret replied.

"How's the thingy."

"Considering it has a father, I'd say pretty well."

"Better than one that has immense power, an army for security, enough food for life, and vast sums of wealth."

"Precisely," she spat back.

The others were too distracted with Margaret. It would take less than a second.

Rafael shrugged, "To each his own. Well, I think that's-... All..." A blur moved behind Benson and Margaret. Rafael just needed that quick glance.

"Hey. HEY! Who the hell was that?! Who just moved?!" His hand fell onto his crotch pistol. "CJ?!" he shouted.

Benson tried to redirect, "Look, I don't know who you think you-"

"Shut the fuck up-CJ?! Get out here!"

Reluctantly, the cloud girl took her place behind the others in view of the insane fox.

"Fucking fuckers who fuck fucks, WHAT THE FUCK?!" Rafael screamed as he drew his outrageously large pistol. His henchmen raised their rifles.

Skips and Roger drew through the fence as well. Benson remained calm. He knew neither side would want to end a Mexican standoff in a bloodbath.

"You know what?! You see this?! You see this piece of paper?!" He ripped the notepad in two with his mouth, "FUCK THAT PAPER! It doesn't even have your name on it but it's been dishonored just from the mentioning of putting on your signature which has disgraced its family heritage and caused me to be all-abla-blah-What the fuck is she doing here?! Huh?! Is she sucking your dicks for you?!" he said motioning his pistol at CJ.

Thomas stepped forward, "Don't talk about her like that-"

Rafael interrupted in an unamused tone, "You. You have penises for antlers. Everything that comes from your phallic mouth from now on will be rendered invalid. Your voice sounds like children committing seppuku en masse. Back to you Bentleyson-"

"Benson."

"Gazuntite. You better give up that useless cum dispensary known as CJ right now," he ordered.

Benson blocked the opening of the gate to the camp. Rafael groaned aloud in a fashion similar to Rigby. "What do you want with CJ?" he asked. His eyes were stone cold, refusing to give anything to this madman.

"What do I want? Hmm, well that's none of your damn business. Now give her to me or I'll burn your little batcave to the ground along with your hopes and dreams."

Benson swallowed, "You're not in any position to demand anything from us."

"Your guys are behind cover. You shoot first and we die, but we're taking you too Benson. Then my tank will show up, then you're all dead. Sound about right?"

Benson fumed, "We're not giving up anyone."

"Of course you are. Wh-what kind of people am I dealing with here, inbreds? I mean, what kind of-... wait..." he smiled manically, "You didn't tell them, did you CJ? Oh-ho-ho shit! Oh, you know what? Fuck this and that and this thing going on right here in particular. Benson, you have no idea what the fuck you are dealing with! Hahaha, oh toppest of keks." All eyes involuntarily turned to CJ. She was steadfast with anger, yet fear for Rafael.

He motioned for his men to put their weapons down. "This is probably better. I'll just sit back and wait for you all to tear her to pieces. But either way, I'll get what I want... Anyway, it was nice talking to you neighbors!" He began backing up, eyes still trained on the camp. His pistol still sat clenched in his fist. "I'll get one of my guys to send you a welcoming fruit basket."

Once out of range, Rafael felt safe to turn back around and continue walking. He nudged to one of his henchmen, "You know, I like them. Let's invite them to a block-party sometime soon. We can have cake, and coke, and coke inside the cake...mmmhhmmm."

Benson stood there, frozen.

He was right. Of course he was right.

He was _always_ right!

He walked back inside the compound. He swiveled the gate closed and padlocked the chain.

He chuckled aloud. The others stood around him, minus Simon and Marceline who went to escape the vulgarity of the encounter.

"Benson? You feelin' funny?" Roger asked.

"You know? I was right. Of course I was. Skips, wasn't I right? I told you guys we shouldn't trust people we don't know."

CJ defended herself, "I have nothing to do with him! Everything he says is just to screw me over! I haven't done anything wrong!"

Benson shook his head, "I don't care. You. CJ. I don't care who you are or what you did. You're gone within the next hour. No exceptions."

"Benson!" Thomas pleaded, "T-that's just unfair-"

"I still want to know how Rafael found us. Thomas, did you tell _anyone_ about this place? Anyone at all?!"

Thomas squirmed, "No..."

Benson locked eyes with his. Thomas grew more uncomfortable with each passing second of this standoff. "As for the rest of you," Benson said still staring down the intimidated goat, "Keep securing this place. Do whatever you were doing before this. As for me, I'm going out to look at the buildings on the north side of the camp. When I get back, CJ, you're leaving."

Benson walked off. He was still armed with the glock. Skips came at his side with the AR. Benson paid no notice to the yeti joining him. It was as if he expected it.

They ventured out the gate and around the wall until they reached the pile of rubble on the north side. They were directly opposite that of the coffee shop.

CJ turned to Thomas, "Well, I stayed the night, and we can see that's gotten me pretty far. Thanks for dragging me out here."

"Bu-" Thomas stuttered.

The cloud girl turned and walked away. Out of sheer boredom, she went to assist the others.

Jared crept his way beside Thomas. They both looked on at the cloud girl as she helped Starla lift a pallet of wood from the back of the white truck.

"Sucks, don't it?" Jared implied.

Thomas sighed in response. He spoke, "Did you ever date before?"

"Yeah, but they were all awful."

"'All'...?"

"Yup." Thomas still had a long face. Jared tried to cheer him up, "Well, if there's one thing my dad told me, its that 'If it has tits, transistors, or transmissions; it's gonna cause problems.'" That did not seem to do anything for the intern. The fourteen year old boy shrugged as he and Thomas made their way over to the truck. The two struggled as they lifted a six foot by eight foot sheet of metal.

They inched over to a random, open spot that was closer to the coffee shop. They rested the bottom on the ground.

Thomas cringed as he supported the slab as Jared retrieved two planks. He placed them at an angle on each side of the sheet metal. Thomas breathed a heavy side of relief as he let go.

"Ah, that was terrible," Thomas complained.

"Suck it up. we still have five or six more to do anyway."

"Ugh! Easy for you to say, you're not doing all the heavy lifting."

Jared cracked a smile, "Because I'm smart enough to know you'll do it for me."

"Screw you," Thomas scoffed.

"_Augh!_ That's not something you should say to a child!" Jared overacted.

"Dude, you're like fourteen. Stop talking."

The two chuckled before begrudgingly returning back to their work.

"Still... you know I'm right."

"Fuck these kids..."

Outside of the camp, Skips and Benson scaled the rubble on the north side. Benson cussed once or twice as he came close to twisting an ankle on the twisted, broken rocks. He carried a glock while Skips came with the AR.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do about Rafael?" Skips asked.

Benson scoffed, "Why does it always have to be me who comes up with ideas? You help me figure this out as well."

"You always like to be in charge, Benson."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It's meant exactly how it sounds."

The two hopped down from the rubble into the street. "You know, you're in charge too, Skips. I'm not the only one that they look up to."

"Then you could act like it."

Benson stopped. He didn't feel as sore about that line as he thought. It came from Skips anyway. He's wise enough to know what he's talking about.

For a moment, the two walked in silence into the office building two blocks over from the camp. Skips asked, "So what exactly are we looking for?"

"I just want to look for blind spots. And if possible, I'm looking to see if we should start boarding up some of these windows."

"Are you saying you really want to block every window facing us?"

Benson chuckled realizing the error of his ways. "Let's just get to the top."

They rose through several flights of stairs. On the sixth or seventh floor, they stopped to pear out the stairwell window. He imitated the stance of a sniper. He followed points in the camp with his outstretched finger.

"So far, I got a good line of sight on Thomas and Roger's kid, Muscle Man, and I think maybe CJ."

Skips spoke, "So I guess we'll need some more cover facing where we're at. Something tall and steep."

Skips handed the gumball manager his walkie talkie. "Muscle Man, come in," Benson ordered.

_"Yo, what's up?"_ High Five Ghost instead answered.

"I you guys to put up more cover on the opposite side of the shop. I want something steep and tall. Maybe try having the Porsche on its side."

_"On it."_

_"What do you boys think you're doing with my car?!"_ Roger interrupted.

Skips took his radio back and hitched it to his belt. Benson exhaled loudly as he rested against the windowsill. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"I guess it's tough being in charge?" Skips asked. He knew the answer was an obvious yes, but it would make for a good conversation starter.

"At least I'm free for the time being."

"Maybe you shouldn't be stressing yourself out so much."

Benson stared blankly at him, "Considering who all I'm up against, that's not really-"

"I mean, we have a smart group. You don't have to be in charge of everything. You said it yourself, I'm here too."

He smiled.

"So... are you really going to kick out CJ?" Skips asked.

"Too be honest, I have no idea what I'm going to do when I get back there, or even what I'm going to say. But we can't keep her. You know that, right?"

Skips sighed regretfully, "As much as I'd like her to stay, I see where you're coming from. What do you think Rafael meant about her?"

"Who knows? I doubt she'll tell us. I can't have her as a liability. I don't trust her."

Skips remembered back to the encounter last night. "I don't either," he agreed.

Fives piped in, "You_ guys coming back yet? We could use some help with this."_

Benson sighed, "Well that was relaxing for all of five seconds. Let's head back."

Once the two left the building, Skips noticed Benson kept his gaze towards the clouds. It was less of a look of worrying and one more of pondering and contemplating. He slowed far behind his usual pace. "Don't worry," Skips consoled, "We can handle whatever happens."

"Wha-oh, yeah."

"Is there something else on your mind?"

Benson replied, "I already told you what's wrong. There's nothing else going on."

"Benson," Skips approached more concerned, "If there's anything I know from being your friend for more than ten years, it's that there's _always_ something else on your mind."

The two halted their walking. Benson chuckled, "Yeah, well, what do you expect? If it's not fighting off monsters one day, it's babysitting slackers or doing something convoluted, _heh_ l-like saving Christmas or fighting-... or fighting Gene... You know what, Skips? This feels, well, kind of normal in a way. I've been thinking about this all for a bit. Everything changed but it still feels the same. High Five Ghost and Muscle Man are the new Mordecai and Rigby, Gene _was_ Gene, but now Rafael is the new Gene, we're still dealing with all this magic shit; it's like we never left the park. And, well, I'm still the manager but now I'm Mr. Maellard in a sense, but that would make you me. I haven't worked out the details where Margaret and CJ fit into this, but that's as far as I got. The universe is working in cycles, and no matter what it keeps putting me in the same place over and over no matter where I go. Right?"

Skips looked at him with a very concerned face. Benson exchanged a serious, heartfelt glance.

Out of nowhere, Benson broke into a laugh, "I have no idea what the hell I just said."

The two friends burst out laughing at this ridiculous conspiracy. "I think this heat is going straight to your head," Skips cracked, hardly containing his grin.

"You just sat there and let me ramble on like that. What's wrong with you? Now I sound like a drunk Rigby."

The yeti shrugged, "What can I say, I was just enjoying the show."

_heeeuughh_

_whooooogh_

_A heavy clank against the windowsill._

Skips' laughter died down, "Okay, but in all seriousness, is there something wrong?"

"Skips," Benson said calming himself down. It took a moment before he continued, "I'm the manager. Of course I'm stressed out."

"I mean that you've been acted more unusual than normal. You're getting too angry too easily. Look, I know what happened with-"

Benson said still with a smile, "Let me just stop you there. I know what you're going to say but please... don't."

_There was a lot in the way. This would be difficult._

Benson gazed around at the fort. On the other side, he could vaguely Thomas talking next to Jared through the intricate layers of cover. Marceline was sitting next to Mordecai and Margaret on the far left. Roger was working on the truck. He couldn't see CJ, nor could he see the nefarious duo of Muscle Man and High Five Ghost. This was his new home.

"I just worry about everyone. You should know this already."

Skips knew this was an outright lie. He was taking their deaths to heart. The yeti was putting together the connection of this and what happened all those years ago.

Something caught Benson's eye. There was a building across the street behind the coffee shop. One of the windows looked strange.

_Breath in._

___heeeuughh_

_Breath out._

_whooooogh_

A bright flash erupted from the same window. The _crack_ broke through the city.

On the other side of the compound, blood splattered into the air freely. The blurred figure of Thomas collapsed motionlessly on the ground out of sight. The wound looked fatal.

Benson and Skips froze.

"No..."

Further down the street, the rumbles of car engines could be heard getting nearer.

Everyone scrammed. Benson couldn't see where anyone was at. He and Skips were still in the rubble far outside.

The sniper in the building fired again.

He snapped.

"No!"

Benson sprinted, right arm raising his glock into the air.

He fired madly at the building while sprinting. He dumped half a dozen shots blindly at the sniper. Skips quickly followed behind, AR at the ready.

"NO!" he screamed again, his lungs aching.

The two climbed the remains of the destroyed apartment across from the coffee shop.

The jeeps were nearing the gates.

The logo on the doors was that of a green pine tree inside a yellow circle with a black background.

* * *

What...?

WHAT...?

Aside from that cliffhanger, how was the rest of the chapter?

Also, if possible, please refrain from spoiling the ending of this. Thank you :)

(The beginning of the dinner scene was the last thing I wrote for this chapter. It was at that point I said, "F*ck it!")


End file.
